Now Is The Time

I was recently moved by the current movement sponsored by Glenn Beck and Mercury One, the non-profit charity organization he founded. That movement is marked by the statement Never Again Is Now. Actually, as I awaken more fully to our situation locally, nationally, globally, my conviction is continually being strengthened, the sparks of my passion are being fanned into flames, my faith is deepening, and I am developing a profound desire to act.

This statement’s purpose is to bring together individuals from all walks of life to “improve the human condition physically, emotionally and spiritually” with an immediate focus on the atrocities of Islamic extremism and our collective ignorance of the evil that is permeating our world. Beck is taking his message to churches in an attempt to revive the power of those who are faithful to a loving God, hoping to reestablish the church as an institution for active grace, prayer, hope, and love. Indeed, our places of worship need to be more than the feel-good factories, stage shows, and fashion fairs that so many have become. There has never been a more vital moment for God’s people to shield themselves with faith, arm themselves with love, and stand firm in our foundational beliefs.

Birmingham, Alabama was the pivotal city for the Civil Rights movement in the 1960’s and the reconciliation model for today. This is where Beck’s first stop will be, and not really by his own choosing. Check out the amazing story behind the decision here . It seems to me that Beck is allowing God to work through him when denying His will would be much easier.

So, I’m inspired. The time is now to be brave, to talk to those who may be of a different skin color, different religious denomination, different culture,  who may have a different perspective to find common ground in an effort to bring God’s grace, glory, and love back into our world. Check that, His world.

I believe I am still in a majority who believe in the founding principles of our country (pre-New Deal) and that we are to love our God and love our neighbors as we love ourselves. This majority, though, seems to be diminishing, slowly slogging into the quicksand pits of moral depravity, blinded by the barrage of attacks on our religion, character, and goodness. Seemingly insurmountable conditions? Yep. But Never Again is Now…

So, what do I do?

My initial thought was to contact my pastor and encourage him to use his extensive network of ministers in the midlands of South Carolina, where my family and I reside, to bring together an interfaith discussion with Glenn Beck as the keynote speaker. I am still planning on pursuing this endeavor. My church is a leader among Southern Baptists; Glenn is a Mormon. This will not be an easy task. Easier to keep my mouth shut? Absolutely. But Never Again is Now…

I was recently on St. Helena Island in South Carolina’s low country and read about Penn Center, site of the former Penn School, founded in 1862 as a school for freed slaves. According to the Center’s website, “It is one of the most significant African American historical and cultural institutions in existence today.” I urge you to read its fascinating history here and visit the physical site if you are near the area. I soon learned that it was here in the 1960’s that “Penn Center took up the mantle of social justice by ushering in the Civil Rights Movement and serving as the only location in South Carolina where interracial groups, such as Dr. Martin L. King, Jr., the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and the Peace Corps, could have safe sanctuary in an era of mandated de jure segregation.” In fact, Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. penned the words to his “I Have A Dream” speech in the Gantt Cottage on the Penn grounds.

It occurred to me that I teach the amazing rhetoric of that speech to my Public Speaking classes and the superfluous figurative language to my English classes. What we really need to learn, though, is the message. We celebrate this man, as we well should, for his bravery and his religious conviction. He stood for freedom and liberty for all people, delivering a message of civil protest to correct injustices, shining God’s light in those dark and evil places that were all too prevalent during his time. This is the pledge (Beck has tweaked it for the movement -pledge) his marchers signed upon joining the movement he championed:

The pledge of nonviolence written by Martin Luther King Jr., and signed by his marchers, 1963

1. As you prepare to march meditate on the life and teachings of Jesus
2. Remember the nonviolent movement seeks justice and reconciliation - not victory.
3. Walk and talk in the manner of love; for God is love.
4. Pray daily to be used by God that all men and women might be free.
5. Sacrifice personal wishes that all might be free.
6. Observe with friend and foes the ordinary rules of courtesy.
7. Perform regular service for others and the world.
8. Refrain from violence of fist, tongue and heart.
9. Strive to be in good spiritual and bodily health.
10. Follow the directions of the movement leaders and of the captains on demonstrations.

Print Name ______________________________

Signature _______________________________

I find this to be lost today in the chaos of our misguided society. Where is our civility? Where is our humanity? Easier to give up? Maybe. But  Never Again is Now…

And then - Charleston.

A city near and dear to my South Carolinian heart was rocked to its core last night by evil. All other motivations pale to the simple fact that this was an act of evil. Innocent lives, good lives, meaningful lives were senselessly taken - in a house of God, nonetheless. The murderer is reportedly from my town, attended a school in my school district.  This is too close to home.

All at once, my emotions were a swirl of shock, raging anger, heart-wrenching sadness, despair, guilt. And then I became fearful for the people of Charleston and our state. What would our response be? Race was obviously a motivator in this heinous crime. Maybe anarchy. Maybe religion. We don’t know yet. Most importantly, though, is the obvious and ominous presence of evil.

So often, the immediate aftermath of horrific events like this consists of mindless chaos, riots, destruction, and more murders – an evil response to evil. Please, no. Not here. Not in my backyard.

I prayed, “ Please, God, feel us with your grace, let us feel your presence, give us the strength to reconcile nonviolently though your love.”

Race baiters, politically-motivated activists, and other divisive individuals began to weigh in and even populate the area. Politicians, including our President, and others began using this heart-breaking event as an agenda-promoting opportunity. Let hopelessness reign? It would be easy to slip into that trap. Allow misinformation to flow freely without challenge? Subdue my immediate desire to help, to make a difference, and give way to inaction? Become wrapped up in my tiny world and worry only about me and my own? It is enticing. But Never Again is Now…

I can’t be in Charleston tomorrow. My schedule will not allow it. Not physically, anyway. But my heart is there. I see the immediate response of Charleston’s residents on the news reports and am so unbelievably impressed and moved. They are hurt, but they are healing through prayer. They are angered, but they are reconciling through God’s grace. They are shocked, but they are unified through their faith. They will be in church on Sunday with a renewed spirit of love and peace. They will…we will grow from this. This is a moment of significance. I hope our strength and resilience and faith and love will prevail. I feel…I know we can show the world how civility and courtesy trumps violence.

“Heavenly Father, grant us the strength to carry on, the grace to love our neighbors, the peace that only you can provide through your Holy Spirit, and the wisdom to take this tragedy and make it an opportunity to shine your light in a moment of darkness. You are good. You will reign over evil. Purify our hearts and clarify our minds. We love you. Help us demonstrate this love from this day forward. Amen.”

Never Again is Now…

I don’t know where my road leads, but I know I’m being led down this road by a power that is much bigger than my own. I hope I have the courage to follow it. 

Will you join me? 

This might be a good place to start:

 http://now.mercuryone.org/

http://www.glennbeck.com/content/articles/article/198/39452/

A Brief Journey of Legendary Proportions

Friday, January 30, 2015 was a day made for legends.

On Christmas morning, a little over a month ago, I was surprised with a gift from my wife. We had agreed not to exchange gifts due to our budgetary bind, but she said she just couldn’t resist. Furthermore, she mentioned my two brothers were getting the same present. Baffled but excited I opened the envelope she had handed me and unfolded a printout of a ticket to see Lyle Lovett and Vince Gill in North Charleston on January 30.

Instant entry into the “Best Christmas Gifts Ever” file.

My brothers also made a deposit into their files that morning.

As the weeks pass, we make the necessary arrangements to free ourselves of our typical Friday affairs and decide to meet at the home of my parents, centrally located between our three homes and in close proximity to I-26, the path to follow from West Columbia to our destination in North Charleston.

Eventually, that highly-anticipated morning comes and, after dropping the kids off at their respective schools, I arrive at our meeting point to discover that my brothers would be delayed in their arrival by an hour or so. So my father and I slip out for some breakfast at his favorite Waffle House a couple of miles down the road.

As I peer through the steam swirling up from the cream-thickened coffee in his pudgy porcelain mug, I look at my father’s aging face and listen to his reflections on friends, family, life and it occurs to me that this is one of those moments to cherish. Some stories I’ve heard before, assuring their places in family lore. Others are new to me, and I can tell that Pop enjoys telling them, imparting the wisdom only a dad can impart. While he proudly divulges information about new acquaintances, many of the characters are the same – his coffee drinking buddies from Zesto’s restaurant, some old clients from his insurance days, distant relatives, the motley crew of friends he had growing up in the coal-mining little town of Richlands, Virginia, and, of course, the immediate family – all enjoying legendary status in our tight circle.

I develop an overwhelming sense that this rare breakfast date with Pop may well be the beginning of an entire day of memorable moments, brimming with legendary tales of our lives and the lives of our heroes.

My sense would prove true.

Soon, my brothers and I set out on our two-hour trek to Charleston and all it has to offer three 40-something brothers desperate for some bonding time together and a brief respite from familial and career responsibilities. Our evolving itinerary includes a good movie, good food, good beer, and a good show. All of the particulars are hammered out along the way, plugged in at appropriate intervals amidst the ongoing conversations on subjects brothers discuss – some words of anticipation of the future near and distant, but mostly reflections on life and the legends created along the way.

After a satisfying lunch that included a delicious jaunt into dishes previously untried, we traverse the iconic Ravenel Bridge that connects the barrier island of Mount Pleasant to the historical port city of Charleston, and propose a possible bridge run in March. This quickly leads to a discussion on the various successes and failures of our numerous exercise regimens and the sorry side effects of aging. We come to no conclusions as our sights quickly refocus on the next component of our journey – the cinema.

Our timing sets us up perfectly for the next showing of American Sniper. We enter with chatter-filled anticipation and exit two hours and twelve minutes later in silent admiration. Throughout the film, as Chris Kyle’s character must focus on his responsibilities and balance between his oath to his country and his vow to his wife and family, I can’t help but reflect on my own choices in priority.

I think back to the night before, after my daughter’s middle school basketball game, when she was distraught after what she concluded was a poor performance on her part. She turned to me for consolation. I guess I’ve somehow earned that. Her quiet sobs into my sleeve revealed volumes and I was grateful to be there. I’m grateful that she wanted me to feel her feelings, to console her and to help her move forward.

Then, I recall my feelings as I dropped off my son at school just that morning and watched him stroll down the sidewalk, the same sidewalk that he and I typically share every day. On one front, I’m the teacher and he’s the student – we’re both going to our jobs. On the other, he’s my son and I’m his dad – together we’re taking on new experiences and growing intellectually, emotionally, together and apart. I feel anxious but hopeful, lonely but proud, and inadequate but blessed when I watch him head into the fray without me. I wonder if I’ve prepared him for his lone journeys. I wonder if he’ll cherish breakfasts with me one day.

I wonder if I’m holding up my end of the vow to my family. Am I living up to my responsibility as a father and husband?

While watching Bradley Cooper convincingly play his role in the movie, I find myself wanting to be a part of something grand, meaningful, noble. I want to make a difference. I know what I do now seems to fit that mold, but I search for something greater. As we slowly and solemnly file out of the theatre in an awkward but reverent silence, we know we’ve been changed in some way, at least for a while.

Then my brother Lew, sandwiched in age between Keith, the youngest, and me, the eldest, abruptly shatters the thick somber atmosphere with, “Well, that was pleasant.”

Chuckles ensue and we hit the play button on our briefly paused day-long banter. The medley flows somehow seamlessly from favorite movies to favorite restaurants to honey-do lists to college days to politics to sports to sleep walking and eventually to a discussion on our next stop, a brief layover en route to our ultimate destination that night.

We choose a happy hour spot, where we learn about the Italian digestivo Fernet-Branca and sample its effectiveness – not caring if it’s actual or contrived. More importantly, our reflections and observations pour smoothly from car to street to tavern. Placing an order is not an interruption, but rather an opportunity to interlace yet another perspective on yet another subject. We reflect on the film, asking the rhetorical questions and speculating on the answers, comparing the cinematic offering to the written account. We contemplate the legends of the world and marvel at the legends in our lives. Then, we move on.

We eventually make our way to the last stopover near the end of the line, where we sample tacos and savor our fellowship, knowing it is drawing to a close. Our hope for a brighter future intensifies as we share dreams and make dreamers’ plans. Our humor switches in style like vehicles at a busy intersection – sophomoric pulls out first, then British takes its turn, followed by an anecdote, which suddenly yields to juvenile. The reactions are hearty and unceasing. We celebrate our camaraderie, but, eventually, our anticipation of the upcoming concert takes control as show time approaches.

After a quick perusal of snippets of our favorite Lovett and Gill tunes, we vacate the minivan and file into the North Charleston Performing Arts Center. We quickly realize that we are in the minority age group of attendees, a good 20 years their juniors. Or, maybe that’s our misjudged perspective and we actually fit into this category and do not realize it. Still, we feel younger, more hip, more in-tune to what “good music” really is. As amateur guitarists (and I take lots of liberties with that description) and expert musicologists (in our own minds), we are there for more than a couple of hit songs. We want to bask in the glow of expert musicianship, marvel at the masterful mix of melody and legendary storytelling, and be inspired by the sheer coolness of the event.

We are not disappointed.

In fact, the show is better than we had imagined…and we had imagined, as we often do, the extraordinary.

As the lights come up, highlighting a small area center stage, we see two chairs, a couple of guitar stands, two microphones, and…that’s all. Lyle Lovett and Vince Gill unassumingly stroll out to an anticipatory and appreciative applause and take their respective seats. I soon realize that this will be the show. No bands, no set up and tear down, no breaks…and no chance of disappointment. The legendary performers take turns sharing songs and swapping stories. We laugh at the tales of dysfunctional families, noting the similarities to our own, chuckle at the accounts of mishaps and poor decisions, wonder at the reflections of the many collaborations with those of otherworldly talent, smile at the revelations of earnest feelings, and truly enjoy the glimpses into the lives and minds of these two gentlemen. A moment of note occurs when Lovett makes a connection to our soldiers and I find an easy connection to Chris Kyle’s story from earlier in the day as the audience responds with a thunderous applause. The two singer-songwriters are long-time amazing performers, but they convince us through their modest natures that they are not performing at all. Rather, they have allowed us a peek into the back room of an old filling station where two guys, each with his guitar and a cold beer, share pieces of their lives through anecdotes and lyrics, laughing and affirming that they are doing what God had placed them on this planet to do. Life is indeed good at this moment.

Sadly, the experience all-too-quickly comes to an end. I want to run on stage and grab Lyle and shake his hand and give Vince a big brotherly hug, and let them know that what they just did was truly wonderful, that I want to go along with them, wherever they are going, and keep the experience alive forever. Theirs is such a different life, it seems. I want to be a part of it for a longer stretch than two and a half hours. But, alas, common sense qualms this fantasy that security would have prevented anyway. So, I file out with the old greys, wondering if they have a decent appreciation of what was just given to them. I know my brothers feel as I do and their immediate comments confirm it.

Once again, our commentary ensues - a reflection of the day, filled with awe, praise, laughter, and gratitude - and continues until we finally depart from one another, going our own separate ways.

I realize that while my initial deduction that the lives of the two superstar musicians and the military hero are different from my own may indeed be true, we still all share the commonalities of our own existences. We reflect on our own legends and situations and they may only differ in names and locales. The underlying feelings and the resulting lessons aren’t all that diverse. That allows me to be able to connect to Chris Kyle, Lyle Lovett, and Vince Gill, as well as my brothers and dad. And on a legendary day, where I watched a legendary story and witnessed legendary performers, I discover that the legends we experience and the legends that we create help make life enjoyable and meaningful and livable.

I have a feeling that my wife knew that her Christmas present to me was more than just a ticket to a show. A legendary gift of a legendary journey from a legendary love.

A Humble Hero Remembered

I don’t have lots of real heroes. I respect plenty of people I know and know of. But, when it comes to an overwhelming desire to thoroughly emulate a person’s actions and philosophies that I consider to be truly great, the sentiment is felt for but a handful of people.

I have differing degrees of fanaticism for plenty of celebrities – from being a die-hard Parrothead devotee of Jimmy Buffett to faithfully following PGA pro Bob Estes on Twitter; from striving for the on-stage excellence of Tom Hanks to jogging to the clever sounds of Will Smith. Politically, I lean to the teachings of Ronald Reagan and the ideas of Glenn Beck. Historical figures like Patrick Henry and Davy Crockett helped shape my perspectives. There are astronauts, athletes, entrepreneurs, giants of industry and servants of our nation that I consider more than praiseworthy. Compiling a list of those of whom I am a fan would take more time than I have and would inevitably be incomplete.

My heroes, though, are few. When I think of those who have had a profound positive influence on who I am, only a few names come to mind. I will quite possibly save those names for other posts, except one.

Dean Smith.

This hero of mine died Saturday night in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, leaving a remarkable legacy both on and off the basketball court. And while you can find a plethora of kind words and heart-felt reflections about Coach Smith from those who were much closer to the man than I, you are invited to take a moment to see the impact this coaching legend had on my life – a life he never really touched directly.

I have always avidly loved the game of basketball. As a child I could be found most any afternoon banking a blue rubber ball off of a plywood backboard into a net-less hoop. I would play for hours every day no matter the weather or time. As I grew older my love for the game only deepened. I spent summer afternoons running pick-up games inside the YMCA while most of my buds were out in the pool. On high school Friday nights, my friends and I would badger the coach to open the gym, eschewing date nights for hoops nights, much to the chagrin of the females in our class. This love escorted me through college where I transitioned from player to student-assistant coach. On many a night, I’d turn to a lone goal in the arena for a personal escape from the rigors of college. I had the privilege of coaching my son and daughter in youth leagues for eight years, the joys of watching them grow and develop a love of the game and all it has to offer far outweighing the many successes we had. I can’t imagine my life without basketball and look forward to my next chance to hit the court, no matter the capacity.

I developed a love for the University of North Carolina Tarheels soon after I discovered basketball and have been a fan ever since. I remember wearing my drawstring on the outside of my shorts – Dudley Bradley style, learning Sam Perkins’ signature baby hook, admiring the work ethic of Eric Montross, and, of course, trying every gliding move of His Airness, himself, Michael Jordan. Early on, I noticed how every player would acknowledge his teammate for a good pass, how each player coming into the game handed off his towel to the player he was replacing, getting information from that player on who to guard, how the team always huddled at the foul line before a free throw. They passed the ball well, shot the ball well, and played tenacious defense, which led to many transition points. Although there always seemed to be stars and superstars on the team, no one took the credit or coveted the spotlight. As a matter of fact, the players seemed to always point to their teammates, and especially Coach Smith, when giving credit for their success. It didn’t take long for me to figure out through all the years of watching the ‘Heels play ball, through their many ups and very few downs, there was always one constant, one common thread – Coach Smith.

Coach Smith was a creative innovator and organizer. He was a father figure for his players and created a family-like environment at his program. He established a simple way to approach basketball and life – the Carolina Way. This method is founded in unselfishness, hard work, and intelligence. The team concept drove his program. No one was bigger than the team and the team always came before the player. There was a joke circulating years ago after Michael Jordan had reached superstardom in the NBA that the only man to hold Jordan under 20 points a game was Dean Smith. Coach Smith placed immeasurable value on effort, stressing that effort was one of the aspects of basketball every player could control. That was not an area in which he was willing to lose. Practice was his classroom and he may have had no equal in effectively teaching fundamentals. Coach Smith knew that practice was where games were won and lost. Constant execution of those fundamentals would usually determine success and would allow his teams to perform better than any I can remember in late-game or time-constrained situations. Coach Smith could orchestrate almost miraculous outcomes on the court, which would not have been possible without his approach to practice.

He didn’t tear down players and build them back as he wanted. Instead, Coach Smith would focus on a player’s strengths, honing those skills he already displayed and using them to benefit the team. Then, he would encourage the player to improve in those areas in which he was weaker in an attempt to create a better total player. But more importantly, Smith also helped create better human beings.

Amazingly, Dean Smith carried his philosophy from the court into his players’ lives and, as a result, into the lives of people worldwide. His message of loyalty and selflessness perfectly accompanied his values on decency and humility when he taught about human relationships.  He was not afraid to take a stand for the causes in which he believed, but he respected the rights of those who opposed his views. I didn’t agree with all of Coach Smith’s liberal beliefs, but I always admired his willingness to humbly defend his viewpoints. I also appreciated his acceptance of those who saw things differently.

Throughout the years, as I studied coaching and coaches, Dean Smith’s philosophies began having a profound influence on me. I started employing his values into my coaching, teaching, and life in general. As his career was winding down, my appreciation and respect continued to grow. I still, today, refer often to Coach Smith’s teachings, although I’ve internalized much of what I’ve found to be applicable in my life.

Dean Smith’s legacy spans globally and pours out from the basketball court into most facets of life. The lessons he taught make me want utilize my gifts to the best of my abilities in the situations I’ve been given and to be a better person. If that is not heroic, I don’t know what is.

Thanks, Coach.