Just Be

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Bob (left), the Mighty Indians (center) & Me (right)

I think that I scared Bob’s parents more than they realized that I looked up to them.

The Nadalet’s weren’t perfect, but when their warts reached the light of day, they were nothing out of the ordinary or at least not so bad to me. For instance, the time Mrs. Nadalet complained to me about the men in her family that refused to take care of her Teflon frying pan. I don’t think it was my empathy she was seeking, but rather some kind of calling out in the dark to see if anyone was there.

Mrs. Nadalet was out numbered by testosterone in her home, and though she and her two daughters tried to circle the wagons, their valiant stands were no match for Mr. Nadalet and his three sons.

I first met Bob when we became teammates on one of the Boy’s Club basketball teams. It’s a little ironic that the name has been changed to Boy’s and Girl’s Club–I’m hoping Mrs. Nadalet had something to do with the inclusion of girls. If not, I know she did in spirit!

Mr. Nadalet and Mr. Reinstien coached our team, but put in a lot overtime because of me. If I could dribble the ball, I couldn’t run and dribble. If I took a shot, there was a clanging of the metal backboard that sounded the alarm that I had missed another shot! That clang reverberated from the blacktop basketball courts, through the play ground to the grass field, then to the backstop on the far baseball field which boomeranged the sound right back like a flashing Vegas neon sign that pointed directly at me. Never the sweet, swish sound of the ball reaching nothing but net!

The two coaches worked with me after practice while Bob and Mr. Reinstein’s son, Steve, waited by shooting and scoring at will on the opposite court. The extra work probably got them in trouble with their wife’s (pre-cell phone days!) and disappointment from their own children, all vying for time. It took me a while, even into my own marriage, to understand and then reminded again when I had a son of my own, that time with dad is precious.

Time away, too many days, too many evenings breaks a family down. It’s like driving with a flat tire–you veer to one side and the ride is bumpy and loud. Work is one thing, as is volunteerism, but when there’s no balance dopey, preventable things start to happen. With the Reinstain’s and the Nadalet family, there must have been more balance than not. (BTW Mr & Mrs Nadalet celebrated their 90th birthday’s this past summer–Praise God!)

Although Bob and his family lived up on a hill and I lived at the bottom, the Nadalet’s never made me feel bad that they were on one side of middle class and my single, working mom, brother and me were on the other side. I loved being at their house because each member of the Nadalet family “just was” which meant that I could “just be.”

As Bob and I got older, about our junior and especially senior year in high school, my reputation (a not a so lovable one) may have reached the Nadalet home. I began to hear a slightly different tone, like I had been guilty of scraping some of the Teflon off of Mrs. Nadalet’s frying pan. I felt bad about that and tried (possibly too hard, a-la Eddie Haskle on “Leave It To Beaver”) but the “just be” had left the building! I sincerely wanted them to know that I cared so much about what they thought of me, but I didn’t know how.

A few years after high school, Bob got married. Bob’s older brother and I stood up with the groom. Although I was honored and proud to be part of the wedding, I felt like my involvement was a source of stress for Bob’s parents–whether it was in my head and nothing could have been further from the truth, I felt a little sheepish.

I can’t remember if we rented suits or not, but I do remember buying a new pair of black shoes, and I worked hard to write a loving toast to the bride and groom.

The wedding was beautiful! The reception was festive, but before I had too much fun, I was nervous and wanted to go over the parts of my toast that hadn’t yet been committed memory. I ran out to my car to retrieve my notes and was on my way back when my new shoes failed me. I slipped on the highly polished floor as I was passing the grooms parents. Flat on my back, Mr. And Mrs. Nadalet looked down at me like I had turned out to be the black sheep they feared was true, and in doing so, scraping off way more Teflon than all of her Nadalet men combined!

I looked up at them and said, “I promise, I’m not drunk!” I didn’t want to disappoint them and knew that I had. No promises, no loving words to their son and his bride could restore the Teflon pan that I had now all but destroyed.

Life became busy after that day. I’m not sure that I’ve spoken to Bob’s parents since that day. Even now, almost 50 year’s since I met Bob and his dad, I have to hold back tears at the thought of letting Bob’s parents down. Isn’t it odd that we can hold onto feelings all of our life? Even if the issue was resolved or just something an over-active, or less-than-others mind grinds on you when the thought comes up–feeling less-than does not build relationships, it pulls someone you care about in with one hand but pushes them away with the other.

I choose to think that Mr. and Mrs. Nadalet’s disapproval was because they worried about me. They knew I was capable of better. They cared and that to me shows love. I love them back!

God allows circumstances in our life so that we can learn something on the other side. The “other side” may not be when a circumstance happens, or even a few days after. Sometimes it’s months or years later, depending on how thick headed you are, before the “other side” dawns on you. When we arrive at the “other side” we can learn from the circumstance(s). We learn there’s a better way, a way to pass on, a way to love others. I’m so thankful for the Nadalet’s, and so many others that helped teach me by modeling love.

God allowed Jesus to go through circumstances that were not of His making. (Matthew 16:21) They were our circumstances, our misgivings, our sin. But Jesus sacrificed himself for us and took away every sin. (1 Peter 3:8) By recognizing the sacrifice Jesus made, by thanking Him, asking for His forgiveness, and asking for a new life, a Christ-centered life, a life that loves God and loves others, He is so ready and willing to forgive you! (1 Peter 1:8) Did you know that there’s even a party in heaven for you? (Luke 15:10) Did you know He will take away the guilt and shame, and turn into love for Him and love for others? (Hebrews 2:17) Even what you perceived as other’s being afraid of you is changed to love. (Revelation 21:5)

The old life is a scratched up, crud-clinging fry pan! The new life is a scratch-free Teflon pan where every scratch is turned new again by our Father in heaven. That to me shows love. I love Him back!

Until next time, peace and joy,

Steve

“and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you,” ‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭1:4‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Aside

A Servant of God

Clyde Ballard

 

My grandfather, “Grampa,” was always there for me. I don’t think I ever said to him, “I’d like to be just like you when I grow up,” but I wish that I had. I wonder what he would have thought about that, or what his reply might be?

I’d like to think Grampa would have appreciated the complement but encouraged me with a reminder that God makes each child unique, with their own set of gifts–that He designs each child with a life plan specific to those gifts to enable us to live fully in Christ Jesus, to bring hope through Jesus to others and in doing so, glorify God.

Although I don’t know what he would have said, I know what my Grampa modeled for me. I believe he modeled Jesus.

My Grampa had a great yard. He made every leaf its greenest, every flower bloom its brightest and scent its sweetest. But he did something more than just grow everything the way God had intended it to be viewed, but the way God meant it to be shared.

Grampa showed me how to prune and cut and mow and watched and guided with patience as I tried to do what he taught.

He was also at my Pop Warner and Little League games when I warmed the bench. And when the score was high enough, either beyond reach of the other team or out of reach of our own, my coach would put me in. And if I didn’t get to play, Grampa warmed my heart with a pride in me that out shined the pine bench I warmed the last quarter or inning before.

He was as most practices, especially football where I seamed to have the most problems. And I imagine now that he hurt with me when he heard the coach yell at the top of his lungs, “Get with it, Wilber!” Or when my teammates made fun of the way I ran. I was very pigeon-toed when I was young, do there was that. But just as easy pickings was my backside. Wilber’s are blessed (or cursed) with enhanced glutes–we sort of put the “maximus” in gluteus maximus–so when I ran it looked like I was being lifted from the back of my belt loops by some invisible hook in the sky. That invisible hook also prevented me from getting anywhere quickly.

My Grampa would take me to a different park or school yard after or between practices and he’d work on technique with me. He taught me how to point my toes and stretch my legs when I ran. Although I had a lot of work ahead of me, it helped.

He’d also let me practice blocking and tackling him. Grampa wore elastic bandages everyday–he had bad circulation which caused discoloration of his legs and as I found out year’s later, also caused great pain.

On those days we’d practice, Grampa would wrap his legs with an extra two or three bandages, get me set up in the right stance, take a few steps back and encourage me to hit him with all I had. He’d let me have at those tender legs, me in full gear–helmet, shoulder pads, and all the momentum I could muster.

Even at my skill level–very, very low–that had to hurt. And though I was only eight or nine years old, a guy with healthy legs would have been smarting some after one of those sessions, which is why football teams practice with blocking bags and tackling dummies–not 50-something-year-old men with bad legs.

The practice eventually paid off. I made the track team in 8th grade, and as a freshman in high school I started at fullback and defensive end on the sophomore football team. Grampa was at many of those track meets and football games to see the early work pay off, but more certainly the dividends of his prayers.

Grampa died before he got to see me play on the varsity football team as a sophomore, and go on to gain awards and win championships playing football through college.

Though I continued to play and excelled after Grampa died, I missed him on the field and off. I still do and just as intensely, but then, maybe even more now that I’m a Grampa myself. I’d really like to know how he made every leaf its greenest, every flower bloom its brightest and scent its sweetest. Yet he’d probably remind me that I already do, except I do it with the unique gifts God gave me, just the way Grampa had his own specific gifts that enabled him to live fully in Christ Jesus, to bring hope through Jesus to his grandkid’s and in doing so, glorified God.

Peace and joy,
Steve

For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. 1 Peter 2:21 (ESV)

Triple Threat

1 baseball crossWhen I was a freshman in high school, I tried out for the JV baseball team (I think it was JV–not sure that we had a freshman and sophomore team–I’m getting old–and the level of play isn’t the relevant part!) I was confident that I would make the team, as I had done pretty well in Little and Pony Leagues. I also thought that I had an ace in the hole. I played football!

“What’s football have to do with baseball?” Well, I thought that because I was good enough as a freshman to start on the sophomore football team, which got me noticed as a prospect for the varsity team, and the varsity football defensive coordinator, Larry MacDuff, was also the head JV baseball coach, then I had an “in!” Sort of an teen’s six degrees of separation theory at work and I had it in the bag, a shoe in, an ace in the hole!

I made the first and second tryouts (I had it in the bag) and then non-league play began, at which the balance of the cuts would be made (a shoe in) and then league play would begin (an ace in the hole). It wouldn’t be long before I was playing catcher for the JV baseball team. I had a dream of walking in the shoes of Gary Carter (varsity football quarterback, baseball catcher, and basketball guard–triple treat!). Carter was a senior my freshman year. He went on to be a Major League Baseball Hall-of-Famer! And I was on my way: After football season, I played on the freshman basketball team and now I was on the way to be a triple threat at Sunny Hills HS!

So we have a non-league game (AKA “practice game” back in the day), and I’m not starting at catcher. I wasn’t worried. Coach needs to make it look good, no favoritism, right? So I’m sitting on the bench with another team mate. After a couple of innings the other team is at bat and they start rallying. I mean they are knocking our pitchers off the mound left and right. But I’m cool. Coach will put me in once this other team wears itself out from running the bases so much and finally gets their third out. Once I get in, I’ll knock the ball around myself some and we’ll get back in this and make it a game!

At one point during this other team’s bat to ball crushing rally, something struck me funny. I don’t know what it was but I was giggling about something and suddenly burst out laughing when an umpteenth score just crossed the plate. Then the call from Coach MacDuff rang out: “WILBER!” (Ah, coach needs me in even sooner than expected! Is he out of pitchers? Does he want the current catcher to pitch? Does he have hunch about ME pitching us out of this miserable half-inning!?! I’m game!)

I sprang off the bench and sprinted to Coach MacDuff at the other end of the dugout, “Yes, coach!?!” “I know the score here, but I don’t know the Varsity score,” Coach MacDuff barked. The varsity team was playing on the opposite end of the campus field. “Go find out the score and come back and let me know.” I ran dutifully to the varsity diamond. Found out the score. Ran dutifully back to Coach MacDuff and relayed the score. My expectation to be thanked and put right in didn’t come. Nor did my hope of being a triple threat. The next day when I went to suit up for practice I read on the locker room bulletin board that I had been cut from the team. Coach MacDuff didn’t talk to me or let me plead for another chance. I wasn’t able to get back in his good grace until the following football season, my sophomore year.

“Hell week” for the varsity football team was just that. If you ate before morning work out and it wasn’t eaten early enough, you would eventually lose it at practice. Hell week is held in late-August/early-September. Life gets hot in North Orange County in the latter months of Summer, but that’s not the only reason that its referred to as “hell week.”

We were close to completing the morning “session” and we always ended that workout with “hills.” Off one side of our practice field was a TALL dirt hill (at its foot was the cow and pig pens and various other farm animals for our FFA classmates.) We had to run the hills like laps. Sprint up, sprint across the top 40 yards or so, sprint down, sprint across, sprint back up and so on. If number of hills didn’t get you, the combination of the hills, the heat and the smells from the farm animals was sure to make you sick.

After we ran the hills we were expected to line up in lines and rows, stand at attention and listen to how pathetically slow and out of shape we were, and other colorful thoughts and ways to express the disappointment coaches had in their prospective players. Guys would be quitting, crying, loosing their breakfast on all fours. The thing that Coach MacDuff liked about me, he later confessed, is that I threw up and stayed at attention (eyes forward, chest out, hands clasped behind my back, feet firmly planted.) Coach MacDuff would move on to coach at Fullerton College, then to Stanford U, and later the in the NFL with New York Giants and San Francisco 49ers. I love that guy a lot and will throw up for him while standing at attention anytime.

In Matthew 17:24-27, Jesus and His boys came to Capernaum for a little R & R. “…those who collect the temple tax came to Peter and said, ‘Does your Teacher not pay the temple tax?'” (25) He said, “Yes.” And when he had come into the house, Jesus anticipated him, saying. ” What do you think, Simon? From whom do kings of the earth take customs or taxes, from their sons or from strangers?” (26) Peter said to Him, “From strangers.” Jesus said to him, “Then the sons are free. (27) “Nevertheless, lest we offend them, go to the sea, cast in a hook, and take the fish that comes up first. And when you have opened its mouth, you will find a piece of money; take that and give it to them for Me and you.”

WOW. When I read Matthew 17:24-27 this morning I heard Coach MacDuff call for me in the sweetest of ways, “Big, Steve! What do you think the varsity score is? Why don’t you take a jog down and get that for us?”

I’ve learned and re-learned and re-learned lessons and continue to be told to go to the varsity field to check out the score! There are a lot of lessons via Jesus in verse’s 24-27, and I’ll probably have to continue re-learning until He say’s, “Let’s call it a game, Steve.”

Looking at one of the first clues that Peter stepped in it, we see in verse 25: “What do you think, SIMON?” Jesus didn’t refer to him at Peter and it went down hill from there. But at least He’s talking to Peter!

If I will stay obedient, keep my eyes, ears, heart and soul open, if I will seek and not assume, if I will practice faith and not obsession, if I will be my Father’s child, servant to my Lord and REMEMBER that Christ Jesus made me a free son of the Father–then I DO have an ace in the hole. Humble confidence in Christ will replace man-pleasing fear. I will love God and will not be kept busy learning a lesson but being the hands and feet that God planned for His child to be. HIS triple-threat!

Earlier in Matthew 17, Peter witnessed the transfiguration of Jesus, and saw Him talk with Moses and Elijah, and he heard God’s voice say, “This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased. Hear Him!” After experiencing God in such a personal way, why would Peter later say “yes” to paying the temple tax–why would God now have to pay HIMSELF a temple tax?!? Was it Peter’s fear that caused him to loose sight when challenged?

Don’t be afraid, brothers and sisters! We have been saved by the Son of God. As Jesus told Peter, James and John after falling to their faces at the sights and sounds described in Matthew 17:1-6, “Arise, and do not be afraid.” But please don’t loose sight of the goal. We don’t loose sight when we stay in humble confidence. The triple-threat in Christ is to love God with all your heart, all your soul and all your mind (Matthew 22:37). The latter keeps me in that sweet spot of humble confidence (when I don’t loose sight).

As I encourage myself, I pray for and encourage you. Stay focused and strong. Pains hurt more than usual. Loss is darker than we ever imagined. We just can’t loose that cough at the end of the lousy cold we caught. And there are so many other distractions that cause our coach to call us out and send us on a wild goose chase. But we don’t serve a coach that doesn’t say a word and simply places our name on a bulletin board so that all can see our failure. We serve a God that welcomes us back. Who is ready to run to us when we turn to say, “I’m lost. I need help.” Oh, its remembering the grace and the mercy, and His love for us that makes us want to love Him back. He has a good plan and I’m so thankful for the plan He has for my life and for yours! See you in that plan ASAP!

Peace and joy,
Steve

twitter/instagram: @stevedubu1