Story Of My Life

“She told me in the morning she don’t feel the same about me in her bones…”

 

If cars could talk..

 

“Hi, my name is Bruce. I am supposedly named after Bruce Wayne a.k.a Batman. A superhero I am not, but don’t tell my owner that. She seems to think I am as good as any Batmobile ever constructed. I remember the first time she spotted me at the car lot in Middletown, New York. She knew I was the one and my engine revved a little quicker at the thought of driving home with her. After our test drive together, I overheard her tell the salesman she could pick me up the next day. It still baffles me that she selected me over the other models. I had been a “loaner” my while three years so what did I know about love at first drive?

Our first year in Goshen was special. She took me everywhere, and took good care of me too. I was a little concerned about the way she handled me, especially at night. She never wore her glasses and I was scared for my life a time or two. I had heard stories from friends about crashes and wrecks, and wanted no part of that lifestyle. It was bad enough we had to ride through Hurricane Irene together. I did my best to stay on the road and above the water. And then there was the time she not-so-brilliantly decided to drive to work in an ice storm. She must have been nervous because she turned around and landed in a ditch. My wheels were too weak to escape the slick black ice. I didn’t leave her stranded though. I eventually pulled her out of there, but she had to keep stepping on my brakes and accelerator. I thought for sure I was going to need outside assistance.

One time, I hit a deer on Goshen Turnpike. I hear this isn’t so rare for cars driving in that area. The deer survived. Our trips to New Paltz were also intriguing. She would sit inside me and study if we arrived early. A stranger tried to get in me one night after her late class. She was so bold and forward, approaching him and declaring to him that this was HER car. I was so proud, but also kept thinking to myself how silly for a girl to approach a man trying to open her car door. It turned out to be an honest mistake by another tired student.

Yep, we had some great memories. I have taken her on trips and job interviews. Sometimes she would pray and a time or two, I even heard her crying. She kept a box of tissues in my back seat for these occasions. A few years back, she informed me she was moving to Texas. I was up for the trip, until I realized we would not be taking the drive together. She dropped me off with a car transport company and accidentally left a can of hair mousse in my back seat. Hair mousse? In Texas heat? What was she thinking? I know she thought the can would explode, blow out my windows and leave fresh smelling white mousse all over the backseat. I surprised her though by being my reliable self. It did earn me the nickname “Moosie Brucie” from my peers. I never will live that one down. Austin, Texas has been my home the past two years and it’s a little extreme for my black exterior. I am started to fade and rust. The friends she allows to see me have started making comments.

My owner has had some interesting guests ride along. Her sister is always a good one because she is sarcastic with me. I think she secretly adores me though. She has this guy she really likes now too. He sings all the songs I play, so he’s okay in my book. He always tells her to “drive safe” and occasionally carries items to my trunk for her. My backseat has been neglected. She will often throw her purse back there, but the last few people to ride in the back were children. My back doors are a bit hard to open at times, so I think my owner discourages anyone from riding there. Her parents are pretty cool. They drive a Nissan too, my older brother the Murano.

I guess when you get older, louder and start leaking exhaust, it’s time to be traded in. The only owner I ever knew is about ready to say goodbye to me for a newer version. I hope he knows and appreciates what he has in her. She drove me crazy at times, but I kept her safe and warm. What more could a girl want? Maybe I am her superhero, or perhaps she gave me more credit than I had due.

Sincerely,

Bruce”

“The story of my life, I take her home, I drive all night to keep her warm…and time is frozen”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vG2piMjhIVY

Just Beyond Reach

“And everyone knows I’m in over my head, over my head”

The lob is one of the fundamental shots in tennis. It is essential in doubles and singles play to be able to place the ball behind your opponent. A good topspin lob will buy you time when on the defensive or be the put away offensive shot you need to cap off a rally.  This tennis passing shot is a high percentage option when you need to get out of a defensive position. A lob can often get you out of trouble against an aggressive net player.  Dependable lobs have the ability to throw an opponent off guard because their height and depth are designed to land beyond their reach. Your opponent will be forced to chase the ball and play at least one more shot. An overhead smash becomes more difficult for an opponent when they are handed a well-executed lob. Though it can be a highly effective shot, the lob is so often underutilized.

From a tennis standpoint, it’s awfully debilitating to be beaten at net by a deep lob to the backcourt. The ball is visible, but just out of my reach. The shot appears attainable until I take that first step and realize it’s beyond being pursued. It reminds me of many of life’s circumstances: the craft of reading a situation without the ability to act.

What is beyond reach in your life right now? What “shots” can you use more often if only they were dependable and you were aggressive enough to pursue them? Are you usually on the defensive or offensive?  I think everyone can call to mind a point in their life where they viewed something as beyond their reach. I wonder if we all under-use our high percentage shots, thinking they will pit us on the defensive. What passing shots are you allowing to pass you by? I have found that what I often perceive as beyond reach is really just an off-guard moment. It is a moment of strategy and setting yourself up for the best possible outcome (the high percentages). Truly nothing worth attaining is beyond the reach of someone who knows what they need to do. If there is something you would like to pursue, you only have to execute the shot and/or reassess your position on the court.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gWRISdwHuwY

“I’d rather run the other way than stay and see”

Finishing

We all have our battles to fight. Never forget the people God uses to help you defeat them.

"And when you're tired of fighting, chained by your control..."

I flipped over the rubbery maroon scorecard. One-zero in my favor. The net between us prevented us from getting too close. I knew not to get too close. She knew too. It would hurt too much when she went away. If only nets could really spare us the pain of getting close. The scorecards, with their jumbo white numbers, always seemed to stick together. Like good friends in sports jerseys.

We finished the set. I won. It was the last tennis match she would ever play and it wasn’t even a complete match. Dayle was too tired to continue. Her blond hair, which usually lit up her face, was crumbling thin. But her laugh, even after she lost a match, was something I would never forget. It came from a deep place and bellied out of her with such prettiness and comfort.  

She wore designer sunglasses the last time we spoke. I stood in front of the club admiring her courage. I still saw the troubled light in her eyes through the shaded fashion frames.  I could taste her fear and smell her sorrow.

She was my mentor, and good friend. I tried to emulate her way with people, her persona. I respected her keen judgment and knack for decision-making. She had impeccable instincts, a mother-like quality that captured my pride. At times, I felt as if I was her very daughter.

Nothing prepares you for death. Even when you see it coming and know the shadow of death is lurking, you are pained with shock and sadness.

I scurried to my car after saying goodbye. My pulse ached for a wrist. It yearned for human contact, a warm touch. I needed a hand to hold, to tell me everything was going to be fine. I watched Dayle from a distance because I could no longer stand to be nearer to her than I already had been. She carried a green purse and began to tuck her white hat into it. Dayle folded the hat and her brilliant hands secured it loosely inside the purse. I saw her yawn her last yawn. Watered eyes. Wide open mouth. Smiling ears. My heart knew, somehow sensed the end.

"Your world's not falling apart; it's falling into place."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tIZitK6_IMQ
 

You Got It

“I run after you like a fool would do…”

It’s been nearly twenty years since I recall my father going on an overnight business trip. I don’t remember the destination. It could have been Minneapolis, Cincinnati or Kalamazoo. I have postcards and mementos from all three cities. My dad didn’t often go out of town, but when he did my sister and I made his homecoming a welcome one. The memory that stands out most is when we picked him up from dropping off his rental car one year. Our mother, always the creative one, suggested we perform a song for dad on the way home. Her idea was to change the lyrics to Brenton Wood’s “Baby You Got It”—and so the song became, “Daddy You Got It”. I wish I still had the recreated lyrics on hand to share. I know our dad got a kick out of our performance, and I am sure he recalls that memory with a smile. I am also pretty certain my dad still made time to throw around the softball with me upon his return. He was always available like that.

Dad has been supportive and appreciative of all our thoughtful efforts. As the only man in a household of three women, my father is also a patient, good sport. He has shaped me into being tougher and stronger. My dad has taught me to never cut corners, how to fight for what is meaningful and that courage can get me through any obstacle. His words have carried a lot of weight to me throughout the years. It was my father who pointed out how I am braver than I think I am. Every time I’d fall down, he would remind me of that. He still does remind me. Dad was there for us when mom was sick with breast cancer. He was there when I threw my first pitch in a real softball game. He comforted me when my favorite football team lost the Superbowl. Dad dropped me off when I went to the junior prom and first overnight tennis camp. He was there to pick me up from the train station after my first job interview and on my last day of college. Dad hasn’t missed any milestone in my life, though I am told he nearly missed me being born (those hospital cafeterias have a way of distracting him). My dad is more than just a father though. He is a talented photographer, a retired accountant, an astute WWII buff, a great softball coach, a fan of the Yoohoo beverage, an eyewitness to 9/11, degreed in undergraduate psychology, a former paper carrier (just like me) and a man who was the first to tell me I am beautiful. I may be biased as his little girl, but my father is one of the best men I know. Happy Father’s Day to my dad, and to all other fathers who help influence the lives of their children.

“But mama didn’t raise no fool and I should know”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDTFxK-ssnk

An Approach That Works

“Looks like a girl but she’s a flame…”

Sometimes in tennis, you find an approach that works and stick with it. The rhythm, momentum and calls all go your way.  Like a conductor, you dictate the song on the court. Other times, you try many different schemes and approaches, only to fall short of your goals. The songs don’t sound in tune or on key; the shots don’t fall where they should fall. Win or lose, an approach that works is what keeps your head in the game. It’s what pushes you into the next match, expecting to improve or expecting to fail. Tomorrow is my birthday and another year to look back at all the approaches that worked and didn’t work. I’ve come to the conclusion this past year’s approach has most definitely been one that works. And, I expect to continue it.

I’ve learned so much in the twelve months since I turned the dreaded thirty. There are always a multitude of lessons to be learned in life, but this year in particular has been one of great discovery. I’ve discovered something about change: that change is scary, but necessary. I’ve learned how tremendous it is to have people on your side to help you make difficult decisions. The empowerment that comes with moving on and letting go is another discovery I have come to trust this year. I’ve learned that the people who are in your corner are the ones who will help you succeed.  I am grateful for those folks who have had my back. People come and go from our lives, but each one leaves a meaningful impact. I’ve recently discovered what love looks like, finally: it’s not imaginary, unreturned or selfish; love is a blessing that reaches part of your core. It’s the person who is perfect for you, and I have found him. Blessed I am indeed, for answered prayers. This year has also marked the beginning of a new approach for me. I did not once give up, no matter what it was I was trying to achieve. Because of that, I believe this has been one of the happiest years of my life. I’ve laughed a ton this year, and that fun approach is another one to apply in all areas of life.

In this world of catastrophe, I have both feet on the ground. My head may in the clouds, but I’m not backing down. I will be thankful when the sun comes out on May 17^th and I turn to the tennis court once again with an approach that works.

“She’s living in a world and it’s on fire…”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J91ti_MpdHA

Shock Absorbers

“Nothing’s so loud as hearing when we lie…”

Anti-vibration devices for tennis have been around since the 1960’s. Many tennis players believe the use of vibration dampeners, also known as shock absorbers, reduce vibrations and change the feel of contact between the ball and racquet. Some tennis players also believe placing a shock absorber on the strings allows for more flexibility and reduces the chance of tennis elbow injuries. Actual research suggests there is no link between tennis elbow and the absence of a shock absorber, but they sure do look cool on the racquet. Many come in different shapes, colors and sizes (I prefer the Wilson “W”). Homemade shock absorbers are also effective in creating that mental and psychological comfort most players seek. Think rubber bands only have a use in the office?

What about the human shock absorber? Last week, I witnessed a terrible car accident on the way home from work. I drove by, on the other side of the road, just as it was happening and saw people rushing out of their vehicles to comfort the people involved in the crash. One SUV was completely flipped over and the other car was so smashed in it had to have been totaled. Strangers were running to their aid, helping the victims absorb the shock and damage of the accident. The image I still can’t get out of my head was of the man, in shock, sobbing in the arms of a woman who rushed to his side. She was his shock absorber in that moment. Who is your shock absorber? Have you ever altered the sound of vibration or prevented the shock of impact for another?

“The air outside so soft is saying everything, everything.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqBnu-w8Bcs

Suffering

“By your plan, that’s just the way it is”

I suffered a tough break in the summer after fifth grade when I broke my wrist on the softball field. In a small way, I always felt that injury became a symbol of my suffering in years to come. The scar on my left wrist is a reminder—a reminder of my physical suffering and my suffering as a player who just wanted to swim and play ball with the rest of the All-Stars that summer. It’s an unpleasant reminder of how cruel and unfair life can be to those who don’t deserve to suffer. My experience in a cast, with a broken left wrist, paved the way for my ability to face trials. I reflect on that sometimes, especially on damp days when I feel a twinge of sharp pain in my wrist. I reflect, thinking how I was always so careful and meticulous in most things. Pitching a softball was no exception. It was an art I strove to perfect. Injuries and illnesses can damage our egos. They can change our perceptions and feelings. They can alter the way we approach certain areas in life. The outcomes from our sufferings bleed into our tomorrow.

With Lenten season in full swing, it seems appropriate to talk about penance, suffering and reflection. Penance---for those acts deserving a show of sorrow for sin. Suffering—for our personal trials and those who need healing. Reflection—on today, yesterday and always. When I broke my wrist, it was like my forty days of Lenten fasting. I was forced to be humble with a broken bone and reduced play time. Lent is a time for humbling ourselves. Who greater a model of humiliation than Jesus? Jesus, the suffering servant himself. There has been a lot of suffering, at home and abroad, the past few weeks. The turmoil in Crimea has needlessly caused many innocent and undeserving people to suffer. Last week, I found out a member of my church’s congregation passed away. And just today I learned that one of my dearest friends is suffering.

Sports are a great reminder that everything achievable is grievously surrendered. Every achievement ends.  Perhaps not in suffering or injury, but it ends. Even Derek Jeter’s days as a baseball player will come to a close. And as morbid and depressing as all this sounds, it’s a clear reminder to me about the meaning of Lent. Lent is about self-punishment, envisioning the end and reflecting on the joy as well as the suffering. It is so much akin to sports because sports are a circuit for all of these things too. With my healed left wrist clasped to my right, this Lenten season I am praying for the people who suffer.

“In the good times and bad, You are on your throne”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9xPzTSpbYmk