May 7 – “Battle for first place”

We had a visit yesterday from Mr. Ken, the Nutrition Man.  He's here for the funeral of a friend of his.  Mr. Ken used to live here in Galveston and went to Seaside for years.  He now lives in Austin and works as a pizza delivery man and in selling nutrition products.  He looks great.  He's lost around forty pounds and says he feel healthier than he has in years.   Mr. Ken is very impressed with Cailyn.  Especially with her ability to climb.  He jumped a few times when she crawled onto one of our barstools.  He just shook his head when he watched her climb the cabinets over at her house after we took her home.  And at the ball game he was a hero when he caught her as she fell in the bleachers right in front of him.  His recommendation?  Keep her away from rollerblades until she's at least 30.  Mr. Ken remembers her Daddy well.   Jachin's baseball game last night was truly a Galveston Little League spectacle.  Two groups of seven to nine year olds were playing for the right to inhabit first place in the league.  The stands were packed with rowdy parents and relatives.  The coaches had done all the preparation they could do.  The toughest umpire in the association had been hired to oversee the game.  The pitching machine was primed and ready to go.  This game was at the "machine pitch" level, I guess because the machine can allegedly deliver the exact same pitch time after time.  Way more advanced than when I was a scrawny little nine year old trying out for the first time because I was too scared when I was eight.  Back then eight was the youngest age.  Now it's four.  And they play t-ball.  Another modern invention.  Maybe that would have helped me learn to hit.  After machine pitch they graduate to "coach pitch."  Here the pitching is live, but is done by the team's own coach, somebody they know and trust.  Boy, I'm glad I never had to go through that level.  I sure didn't trust my first coach.  I was scared to death of him.  He would hit crushing ground balls to us at speeds that would cause a major leaguer to flinch.  And then when we missed them he would make us run a lap around the entire field.  Which, by the way encompassed three or four fully functioning practice fields.  It wasn't actually a sports complex in the present day sense, though.  There were just four hastily constructed twelve foot chain link backstops at each corner of a huge empty area of ground.  Most of the time it was kept mowed, and there weren't really all that many holes to step in.  They worked for us.  Anyway, I think the kids today finally reach real Little League at ages eleven and twelve.  I had to face twelve year old pitching when I was ten.  Not all that great for a youngster's self-esteem.  It made be a pretty good shortstop, though.  I greatly preferred playing defense to standing in a little box with a wooden stick and hoping I didn't get hit with a hard ball thrown at my head by a kid twice my size.  And now their wooden sticks are made of metal so the ball will go farther and faster.   Jachin's team lost the game, by the way.  They played their hearts out, though.  I was proud of Jachin.  In his first at bat he got an RBI on a ground out that tied up the game.  He put down a beautiful drag bunt his second time up, but was thrown out at first.  The thing that most disappointed me was the sportsmanship of the parents.  I have no problem with cheering and encouraging your kid loudly to do his best.  I was even OK with honking the car horn after an especially exciting play.  The cries of "easy out" that I remembered saying myself as a player sounded kind of out of place coming from some other guy's mom.  And it struck me as kind of cheap to blow an air horn just as the batter was about to take his swing.  But at least no one tried to climb the fence to beat up the umpire for a bad call.  That image was forever seared on my mind from back when I was playing.    Oh.  After the game the kids were still excited.  It was after all … sno-cone time.  Some things never change.   James 1:16-17 says, "Don't be deceived, my dear brothers. Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."   Father, thank you for your unchanging nature.  It's nice to have something, someone, we can count on.  Amen.

May 6 – “Micah and the memorable pastime”

I got to see Micah play a game of t-ball yesterday just before home group.  Chris stuck around the house to be the consummate hostess while I went to the ball park.  Isn't she awesome?  Of course that means she gets to go to the game next Thursday I get to be the hostess.  Hmm.   I always love baseball games no matter how old the participants are, although sometimes it's hard to follow the different age-related rules.  Last night, though, I was reminded that the little guys don't much care about the extra rules, or the regular old baseball rules for that matter.  Especially when they're just four years old.  And after about thirty or forty-five minutes it's the parents and coaches who want the game to be played to its bitter end, not the kids.  Now some of the little guys were in it for the long haul.  Like the little kid who tripped and fell face down on his way to first base after a great hit.  When he stood up he was sputtering and spewing and his face was covered with chalk from the baseline.  He couldn't see at all, so the base coach helped him brush the offending white stuff from his face.  His Mom raced from the stands with a bottle of water to clean up her baby.  And all the while, other parents were yelling, "Touch the base.  He hasn't touched first base yet."  They took him into the dugout, cleaned him up, popped his helmet back on his head, and sent him back to the field amid cheers and an ovation.  And he finally did touch the base.    There were numerous other memorable events in last night's game.  I never realized how exciting it is to get to be the catcher.  I had to catch one time when I was in Little League.  I was playing shortstop and the coach wanted his son (our regular cather) to come in as a relief pitcher.  Problem was I was the only other guy on the team who was wearing a protective cup.  Chosen by default.  The other team had a runner on second base.  On the very first pitch I closed my eyes to receive it.  Luckily it hit the glove.  Unluckily, when I opened my eyes I saw the runner heading for third base.  A steal attempt.  Luckily, I always did have a really strong arm.  Unluckily, I never really knew where the ball would be going when it left my hand.  This particular throw went over the head of the … left fielder.  That was the only game I ever caught.  But the guys on Micah's team were all scrambling for the opportunity to put on all the catcher's gear and squat down on his haunches way behind the plate while everybody else chased the ball.  My grandson won the lottery.  He was catcher the first inning.  Nice job Micah.    He got transferred to second base in the second inning.  Found him a small indentation in the infield that was full of baseline chalk and settled in.  That's when I noticed another amazing feat of dexterity on the part of my grandson.  Seems that when he plays the infield he switches his lefthander's glove to his other hand.  Ambidextrous?  Not sure.  The only ball that came near him wasn't near enough to hit his leg so it rolled on past.  When he moved to the outfield he switched the glove back to the proper hand again.  Pretty impressive, Micah.   Once he got to the outfield he was obviously in his element.  The game was well into its second half hour, so he was not alone in his change in focus.  From his new vantage point in center field (which, by the way on this level was right at second base), I saw him at different times: laid back on the dirt relaxing in the cool of the evening, actually making a portrait in the dirt of his guardian angel that rivaled any snow angel I have ever seen, and my favorite, he filled his hat with dirt.  I was on the edge of my seat with that one, because one of his coaches was calling his name about then.  I just knew he was going to react to the sudden attention and put the hat on, dirt and all.  I even had my phone ready to take a picture.  But not Micah.  He was way too cool to be phased by the simple ramblings of an unrelated adult.  He did stand up, but only to complete the action he had begun – he spun in a circle, spreading the dirt in wide arcs around him.  It was truly a thing of beauty, Micah.   I love baseball.   Proverbs 1:33 says, "But whoever listens to me will live in safety and be at ease, without fear of harm."   Father, once again I thank you for showing me the joy of a child in the simple things of life.  Thank you for loving Micah with me.  Amen.

May 5 – “Cailyn and MoeMoe”

Cailyn was over again the other day while her Mom was in school.  For some reason her little "Mommy instincts" were piqued concerning my Mom.  Now, to the other grandchildren she is MeeMaw.  Kel had the distinction of naming her when he was a youngster.  That's yet another privilege of being the firstborn.  Us poor middle children never get to assign pet names to the adults around us.  We try to say a name and instead of it coming out "so sweet and so cute" like it was for the oldest, we get something more like, "No.  That's not right.  Her name is MeeMaw."  Sorry younger siblings.  I feel your pain.  But then the youngest comes along, or in this case the only girl.  Then the game changes.  I guess the parents are tired of the battles they have been fighting with that second-born, so the baby is free once again to be creative.  OK, I know I have been mixing up families here and the dynamics are different in different situations and I'm still a little bitter about being the forgotten middle child (wait, did I write that down?).  Back to the story.   Cailyn had been here awhile.  We were sitting in the office.  I was working on the sermon and Chris was reading the paper.  Cailyn had settled into the little kids' rocker I just finished refinishing.  All was quiet.  For about three seconds.  Suddenly she sat up rigidly in the chair and  questioned, "Where's MoeMoe?"  That would be her own personal pet name for Mom, hence the extended discussion above.   She jumped out of the chair before either of us could reply and announced, "Time to get up."  She was right.  Mom was taking a nap back in her room.  Chris tried to get out sort of a muffled, "But wait, she's asleep."  Didn't matter.  Cailyn was on the move.  Before we knew it we heard Mom's surprised, "Well, look who's in my room."  And in a short minute or two both of them joined us, Cailyn walking slowly in front of her.  And the announcement was made in true Johnny Carson style, "Here's MoeMoe."  Cailyn had determinedly walked into the bedroom and thrown off the covers.  No discussion.  It was time for MoeMoe to get up.   Days like that are fun to watch.  Cailyn crawls up into her lap, knowing that she has to do all the work.  Or she snuggles into the tiny spot on the couch next to her and hands her a book to read.  Her latest point of concern has been the bottom button of Mom's house robe.  For some reason Mom never gets that one snapped, so Cailyn has made it her personal mission to snap MoeMoe's bottom button.  She has also taken MoeMoe on a few walks.  In the walks with us, Cailyn want to cavort over the entire block and then some, dancing here and there, exploring homes and ant beds and wildflowers all along the way.  Mom can't go all that far, though, and somehow Cailyn knows that.  And she's perfectly OK with that.  She takes MoeMoe by the hand and very slowly walks right by her side, watching the ground around them so her personal charge doesn't get tripped up by unexpected obstacles.  They usually get about one house away before Cailyn makes the turn and directs her back to the rocking chairs on the front porch.  And when Mom sneezes – or any of us, for that matter – Cailyn is quick at the trigger with her, "God bless you, MoeMoe."  Yesterday she shared some of her fruit snack candy with MoeMoe.  You know that is an event, when a child is willing to share candy with anyone.  And when Mom misplaced her glasses Cailyn was right there with us, looking all over for them.  We finally found them sitting on the side of the bath tub.  And Cailyn was proud to be the one to deliver them into MoeMoe's waiting hands.    Two years old and eighty-four years old.  The interaction between generations is priceless.    Proverbs 20:29 says, "The glory of young men is their strength, gray hair the splendor of the old."   Father, thank you for giving Cailyn the chance to connect with a great-grandmother.  Doesn't happen often in our world today.  Amen.

May 4 – “Back in the saddle”

Things are still showing up that made it through Hurricane Ike.  On the surface they seemed relatively unscathed, but as time went on the true inner damage began to reach the surface.  One such victim was the rocking horse.  I don't remember (that's getting to be quite the byword for me lately) where or when we actually got the old horse.  I think we have had it through all three of our boys, though.  For a long time it hung on the wall in the garage, disassembled but ready to return at a moment's notice.  It finally made its grand reappearance for the grandkids, and they have been enjoying it ever since.    It rode the waves through the flood and seemed to be fine, but like everything else around here that had any semblance of metal on it, the frame began to rust.  Honestly, if I had taken the time to scrape it and repaint it back when it first began, I could probably have added a year or two to its lifespan.  But alas, other things kept taking precedence.  First the house.  Then furnishing the house.  Then … well, one thing after another.  Life.  And so the poor rocking horse suffered.    It's not like the horse itself has any problems.  It was made out of plastic.  His only problem was the handle that went through his head between his ears.  (Of course it's a "he."  We had three boys, remember?).  The plastic covering over the wooden dowel cracked and fell off.  The dowel is still there, though.  It just kept sliding out until a few weeks ago when I put some bicycle handgrips on each side.  Works fine now.  Even the springs seem to work fine.  They are also pretty rusty, but I'm hoping to clean them up enough so they will last at least through Josiah's stint on horseback.  The only issue is the frame.    Last week one of our guest kids was taking a ride when the frame finally gave up the ghost.  I wasn't out there when it happened, but I'm sure it scared him at least a little.  I guess he found out what it was like back in the Old West when the cowboy's horse got shot out from under him.  The center part just cracked on both sides.  No fixing it.  So I began working on some plans for a new one.    Now, I'm no metal worker, and I'm not much of a woodworker, but I think I can get this thing done out of some four by fours and two by fours and big old eye hooks.  I drew a picture of what I have in mind.  I think I'm going to ask my buddy Ken about it when he gets here this week.  He's an ex-contractor/ carpenter/ cabinetmaker.  Here's hoping that Roy Rogers or Zorro or even some obscure John Wayne figure will be back in the saddle again real soon.   Psalms 80:7 says, "Restore us, O God Almighty; make your face shine upon us, that we may be saved."   Father, forgive us when we allow our lives to get rusty and too weak to hold up even the lightest of your children in need.  Amen.

May 3 – “On Osama bin Laden”

I've been reading some of the reports and thoughts and editorials about Osama bin Laden's death yesterday. Amazing how many different ways people can see the same event. The end of an era. The start of something new. The best thing that's happened in ten years. The worst possible scenario. I heard that the televised Mets baseball game had one of the most interesting responses. The game was in process and pockets of people around the stands would hear about the bin Laden death. Cheers would erupt. And the players on the field had no idea what was happening. Now that had to be comical. Imagine the thoughts of the guy coming to bat, struggling in the throes of a terrible batting slump, who hears wild cheers from the home stands after he strikes out. Confusing at best. I heard that at the Nationals game in Washington they already had a tribute to our troops planned. Worked out well for them. I read a post from a friend in California. He was the first of several who pondered philosophically about the proper "Christian" response to the matter. His thoughts were similar to the article in this morning's paper: "A moral dilemma: love our enemies or cheer their death?" We can't help but feel a sense at least of relief, if not outright joy, when justice is done. American intelligence operatives have been tracking this guy and refusing to give up for ten years. Admirable determination. Navy SEALS put their own lives at risk to accomplish this task. Commendable resolve. On the other hand, God loves bin Laden just as much as he loves me. And Jesus told us to love our enemies. The guy was obviously deluded, but he made the choices that made him a fugitive. We human beings have a really hard time combining the ideas of pure justice and pure love. But that's part of what makes God, God. All I can do is embrace and celebrate the justice, and still try to maintain a certain twinge of sadness at the effects of evil on a person's life. Zechariah 7:9 says, "This is what the Lord Almighty says: 'Administer true justice; show mercy and compassion to one another.'" Father, thank you for your protection of those who seek to carry out justice in the world, in our nation, and locally. Help us remember the other side of the coin as well. Love. Amen.

May 2 – “Real Live Baseball”

I had to say a few words about the purpose of our trip to San Antonio this weekend.  As put so appropriately by Zakary himself, we were there to see "a real live baseball player in a real live baseball game."  That would be … well, Zakary and his t-ball game.    The game was at 8:00 Saturday morning.  An early start even for the little guys.  Christi started getting them up somewhere around 6:30 or 7.  They had some breakfast, made sure Chris and I were awake, and scrambled into their uniforms.  Zak said he was wearing a "real live baseball uniform."  Caleb had his own T-shirt in the bright yellow colors of the Pirates, with a notice on the front identifying him as Zakary's brother.  Way cute.  Mom decided to stay in bed.  She decided that she had done her share of "real live baseball games" back when I was a kid.  That was where she and Dad spent every wedding anniversary from the time I started as a nine-year-old, at least until I got out of Colt league when I was 16.  But then, what better place to spend an anniversary than at the ball park?  Can you get any more romantic?  That particular "sacrifice" inspired me so much that I proposed to Chris right after an Astros game.    The league was put on by the local YMCA rather than Little League.  That meant it was much less competitive and more instructive than Micah's league here in Galveston.  There were parents all over the field helping out.  Chris got some great close-up photos of Zak.  That's because she was standing right next to him in the baseline.   There were 12 players on Zak's team, and the numbers on their uniforms reflected just that, 1 through 12.  And that was also the batting order.  Kept things quite simple.   Everybody on each team had a chance to bat each inning (they played two).  Player number one started things off.  He hit the ball and ran to first – eventually.  It became apparent that all the parents on the field were there for a reason.  One of them often had to chase down an errant runner and redirect him to the proper base.  Then the next guy hit and the first guy ran – somewhere, while the other team chased down the ball.  Eventually, all of the little guys got a single, except the last one in line, number 12 – Zak.  When he hit his ball he ran all four bases at once - a home run.  Then the other team did the same.  The second inning they switched the batting order to where number 12 batted first and got a single.  Then number 1 hit a home run.  Oh, and in the field I saw the results of an ingenious coach's ploy to get t hem into a ready position before the batter took a swing.  He told them to act like a gorilla.  That meant they hung their arms down in front of them with their glove scraping the grass, hunched over into a crouch and swayed back and forth.  Perfect position to be ready for a ground ball.  And when a ball headed their way, they were to become alligators.  Lay the glove on the ground like a bottom jaw, and when the ball got there, snap the top jaw – the other hand – over it and eat it up.  Great fundamentals of fielding.    All in all, the kids really seemed to have a great time.  Caleb was always ready for "my turn baseball now," so Josh occasionally held a ball in his hand (brave Daddy, right?), and Caleb hit it with his own little plastic bat.   And then he ran.  Anywhere.  He did make a run around the bases after the game.  Fast little guy.  Lots of practice running from an older brother, or maybe from Mommy and Daddy?   Matthew 5:3-12 says, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.   Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.  Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.  Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.  Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.  Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.  Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.           Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.  Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you."   Father, thank you again for reminding me what it looks like to play with the joy of a child.  Amen.

May 1 – “Forty years”

Already May.  I wonder how many times I will hear that this month?  Not that I would particularly notice it normally, but I did go to my 40th high school reunion last night.  Forty years since I celebrated getting out of high school.  Forty years since I was the skinny, wimpy kid with glasses who loved drama class because he could become someone else.  Of course now I'm not so skinny any more.  I still have those glasses, but they are bifocals, and I've already had my first cataract surgery.  And I'm perfectly fine with who I am since I stumbled on the discovery that the One who made me meant for me to be me.   I talked to one person who asked about my high school yearbook.  We were comparing notes on what we lost in Hurricane Ike.  Sadly, that item was on the list of things gobbled up by the claw from the trash heap in our front yard.  She told me that she actually found one at a garage sale.  Who puts a high school yearbook in their garage sale?  I remembered finding a really old Texas Aggie yearbook at the city dump one time when I worked as a beach trash man for the City of Galveston.  It was really old, so I rescued it.  Lost that one in the storm, too.    It would have been helpful to look through the yearbook before going to that reunion, though.  There were a lot of folks there that I didn't remember.  It was OK, though, because they admitted not remembering me, either.  It's the ones that say they do remember me that make it scary.  I get that a lot, mainly because I'm a pastor.  In fact, as I was walking into the restaurant last night, someone in a truck rolled down her window and yelled at me, "Hey, Pastor Kelley."  I'm not sure who it was, but I grinned and waved back.  Maybe if she reads this she will let me know later it was her.  Anyway, we decided that the ones we really remembered were those we spent time with in junior high and elementary school.  Oh, and I also saw Eric who grew up on my street.  Once we hit high school everyone went their separate ways into the usual high school social networks: jocks and cheerleaders and smart kids and drama people and band members and partiers.   I saw the girl I went out with on my first date ever in junior high school.  My older brother drove us to the Big Dance at the end of the year.  I saw one girl who introduced me to a friend as the "guy who gave me my first kiss."  It was in one of the enclosed stairways of our elementary school.  All the rooms were in building up on stilts, so the stairways were enclosed to keep out the weather.  Second grade.  Guess I was a better player back then than I was in high school.   I spent a long time talking to a guy who never seemed to have a lot of friends back in high school.  He has had a pretty tough life since then.  Lots of family issues.  He said he was a believer, but he didn't really have a specific church family he could turn to.  He doesn't live in Galveston any more, either, so it will be hard to follow up.  I have seen him on FaceBook a few times, though.  Also talked to some others going through tough times – divorce, aging parents, personal pain.    I was kind of surprised when Victor, the really popular guy of the evening who flew back in from Georgia, sat with me to eat.  We were in junior high together, so we fell into that "way back" category.  He was the quarterback of the junior high football team.  I was his fourth string backup.  Just a little perspective.    I heard quite a few "I read your blog" comments.  My favorite of the evening, though, came as I was leaving.  I told them I had to get home and come up with a sermon for Sunday.  Francine mentioned that I could write about "some of us."  And Joanne, ever the funny one, said something along the lines of, "Yeah, say that some of us who started out so weird didn't really turn out so bad."    Not so bad at all, Joanne.  Some of my classmates seemed very much at peace.  Others not so much.  My prayer for all those guys now is that they can be happy.    Isaiah 26:3 says, "You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you."   Father, bring your peace to my old classmates – to those who were my friends and those who never really knew me.  Draw them closer to yourself so it will be possible for them to be truly happy.  Amen.