WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- The Globe is Warming and I'm Freezing to Death

     As I stood in my usual position, I decided then and there that the whole debate was meaningless. Scientists disagree, experts disagree, politicians disagree, and diners at restaurant tables pick each other's arguments apart during evening meals. The debate? Well, I'll get back to that in a minute.
     As you may know by now, I am a college baseball coach for a living, and if you've followed along, you may know that my team's season ended a few days ago. As you also may know, I have made an admirable attempt over the years not to compose columns about sports. Though I could, I don't write about amazing comebacks, heartbreaking losses, or miracle seasons. Those belong on the sports page.
     But I do feel the need to provide a quick explanation about some of the dynamics of college baseball in order to help you better understand my plight this past season. Here are a few facts about college baseball you may not know: 1)We play our games in February, March, April, and May. And for those teams fortunate enough to advance in the playoff system, there is the potential for games in June and even July if you're one of the finalists. But most play February through May. 2)Spring officially begins around March 20, which means more than a month of our season is played during the winter time. And this year, winter hung around until mid April. 3)Despite the misconceptions you may have about long, hot summer days and sticky, humid nights on a baseball field, we the college crowd freeze our buns off at times. 4)It's even worse for teams above the Mason Dixon line, who some years don't even begin to thaw out until Cinco de Mayo .
     Complaining I am not. This is the lot I have chosen. Cold, windy days and nights on the diamond are part of the deal. In fact, I have learned to embrace the cold. Please bear with me as I share a true story about my apparel choice when I'm expecting a chilly baseball game experience.
     My 32 years of coaching have taught me well. First of all, if I am scheduled to throw batting practice that day, which I almost always am, I don't put on my heavy stuff. I dress as light as possible while still trying to maintain a semblance of warmth. I have learned that the worse thing I can do is layer up and then get all sweaty while throwing batting practice. Soon afterward, all the sweat freezes and I am colder and wetter than a penguin's flipper in January for the entire game. This is a miserable experience. And I avoid miserable experiences whenever possible.
     Therefore, I have learned that once I finish throwing batting practice, it is highly advisable to find a changing area and proceed to pull off the wet stuff and replace it with full protective armor before the game starts. Once I have wiped off with a towel, I start with some skin tight compression pants. They look like something a Russian ballet dude would wear but I care not. They're part of the package. Next I put on a similar skin tight all-weather pullover shirt. The kind that are thin, made of polyester, and keep the heat in better than cotton. As soon as it is on, I break open a store bought body warmer the size of a softball and stick it on top of the shirt. (You can't put those warmers directly next to you skin or they will burn straight through to your gizzard.) Next comes another pair of tights, the kind that look more like hose than pants. Please think me not effeminate and for your sake, refrain from picturing this scene in your mind as I relate it to you. The hose/tights help hold in heat as well.
     I have an excellent pair of thick hunting socks I put on next, followed by an "open, shake, and stick to your socks" toe warmer for each foot. Then it's time for a heavy, Army issue thermal underwear shirt, which also has a matching pair of pants. Both are Army green and very warm, so on they go. I got them from a soldier who used them in Iraq, and they, like him, have served well. At this point, I employ a thick cotton turtleneck pullover to cover up all this menagerie of clothing.
     Now it's time for game pants.White or gray, depending on whether we are home or away that game, along with a belt if I can get one to fit with all that stuff on me. The game pants serve no useful purpose in terms of weather blocking, but are merely there for style and conformity to the rules of baseball dress up. It's time now to put a thick sweatshirt on my upper body, the kind with a hood in the back that keeps cold heads toasty when their occupant is in the dugout. (One year I even grew a goatee just to try to keep my face warmer). Obviously I don't put on a jersey bein's  how it would be buried three or four layers deep and out of view anyhow. Next comes the team issued pullover to be placed over the sweatshirt and I'm nearly ready.
     Gotta have a hat. Some baseball coaches nowadays wear the knit caps. We in the South properly call them toboggans. My Northern friends tell me toboggans are for sledding. I tell them sleds and road signs are for sledding. I can't bring myself to wear a toboggan/knit cap. It's un-baseball-ish, plus they make my head itch.So I wear a regular baseball cap in the dugout and a hard hat when I'm coaching bases. Hard hat helmets are cold so one time I tried putting one of those aforementioned "open and shake" warmers in my helmet. It burnt through to my pea sized brain and left a brown stain on my forehead that remained for three days despite numerous washings. 
     At this point my hands become priority number one. Hand warmers placed inside thick wool gloves tend to do the trick but they end up freezing any way at some point because I have that condition where your hands are always cold when it's below 60 degrees. This makes for some embarrassing moments when you enter church from outside and the greeter says "Oh My, your hands are really cold." So I wear gloves inside the church sometimes and people think I'm weird, which is largely accurate. It's a lose-lose.
     So what happened that afternoon during the game and what caused me to be distracted by a scientific debate at precisely the moment my team was attempting to rally from a three run deficit? I'll tell you what it was. I had just watched a debate on one of the propaganda networks that morning about global warming and one of the experts was claiming the planet was pretty near to melting from the increasing heat. Meanwhile, I was experiencing the coldest baseball game I could remember in my 32 years of coaching. So my thought at the moment was,"Whoever thinks the Earth is burning up should be standing here coaching third base with me during this game."
     I'm not making a political or scientific statement as to whether or not the Earth is going through global warming. I am simply saying that at that moment, I really didn't care. I was freezing to death. (Not literally, but close). But fortunately for me, I was fully equipped with my cold weather armor. And live on did I as a result.
     The Bible says in Ephesians 6:11-17 that we are to put on the full armor of God so that we can withstand the devious schemes of the devil. That armor includes the breastplate of righteousness, the belt of truth around your waist, the gospel of peace on your feet, the shield of  faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is His Word. I don't know about you, but I can use every bit of help I can get when it comes to warding off the devil's attacks. And the aforementioned items sound pretty effective to me.
     So next year if you come to see one of our games on a cold and blustery afternoon or evening, please spare me the "Wrapped up like an Eskimo" and "Michelin Man" jokes. I've heard them all before. And no, I will not have gained weight. I'll simply be wrapped up in the armor of warmth, rubbing my hands together and wondering why global warming hasn't reached my neck of the woods yet.

     (Click on picture to enlarge)

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- Where There's Ever a Boast or Brag

     I really truly thought I had invented a new term. It just flowed right out of my mouth when I was asking my middle son for permission to post some pictures of his college graduation on Facebook. Said I to the son, "You know your Mom and I aren't ones to boast post on Facebook, but would you be okay if we shared a few pictures of your college graduation?" And there it was. A new term: Boast Post. I had never heard it before but it seemed so appropriate and so original. And to top it off, it was equally useful as either a verb or a noun.
     I quickly looked it up online and to my amazement, it didn't seem to be a thing . . . until I looked it up in the Urban Dictionary. And there it was, bigger than life. The Urban Dictionary described a boast post as "A generic newsletter, usually sent yearly and often with a Christmas card, which is generally smug and self-satisfied in tone."
     I don't like the Urban Dictionary. It ruins everything. Quite often it takes perfectly good words and phrases, and twists them into demented, improper, sometimes vulgar connotations that serve little to no purpose in the perpetuation of a morally responsible society. Okay, maybe I'm just jealous because they claimed my phrase before I did. But I'll stick with my assertion that the Urban Dictionary is more of a nuisance than it is a contributor to society.
    Anyhow, my definition of a Boast Post was/is slightly different than theirs. To me, a Boast Post is when someone shares something on Facebook, Twitter, or some other social media- that is bragging in some form or fashion. Normally it is bragging on someone else such as a family member or friend, but sometimes it is a direct attempt to draw attention to one's self.
     Before you throw sticks and stones at me, let me say that I don't think Boast Posts are bad. I kinda like to read them. I like to know what is going on with my friends and their families. And if there's something to celebrate, I want to celebrate with them. So Boast Post all you wish when there's good news to be shared.
     The issue is when fine folks with questionable intentions seem to be attempting to appear better than others because all of their posts are "in your face" Boast Posts about how good their lives are compared to everyone else's. Experts say that it's okay to brag on Facebook as long as your brag bites are sprinkled in with other posts and are only a small part of your overall content. These same experts say that people typically overestimate the extent to which others will share in our joys when they are posted, and we tend to underestimate the annoyance they may create.
     Some posters (that's what I'll call them, myself included) use the word "blessed" to share their good news. Here are two examples. You decide which is humility and which is bragging.
Post 1: "Blessed to share that I have been asked to speak at the National Convention For Prevention of Facebook Boasting. Overwhelmed and honored to be mentioned in the same sentence as those who have stood on the stage before me and spoken at this convention. Your prayers are appreciated. I truly didn't expect this but will do my best to share what is on my heart."
Post 2: "Blessed and proud to announce that I beat out 24 other candidates to be named Employee of the Year down at the factory. So gratifying to finally be recognized for the hard work I put in day in and day out. It just backs up what I believe, which is that good things happen to good people. So keep doing the best you can and you too may receive an award like this some day."

     These thoughts clouded my mind as my index finger prepared to hit the POST button that recent evening when my son graduated. Once out in space, it could never come back and I knew it. My son's college graduation pictures and his parents' comments would be shared with the world, risking the possibility that somebody somewhere would accuse us of bragging. Within ten seconds of my finger hitting the aforementioned button, it had a LIKE. A few seconds later, it had another. Then a comment or two. Within minutes, my computer screen was smoking. As I scrolled through other posts, I noticed a lot of parents who were proud of their college graduates, too- and everybody seemed to be enjoying looking at and commenting on the pictures. I started to feel better about my post. And I think those who know my son were glad to share in our excitement.

     The Bible says in Galatians 6:14 (Galatians was written by the Apostle Paul): "May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ." In other words, you can brag all you want to about what Jesus was willing to do for you. He loved you and me so much that He was willing to die for us. That should make each of us feel special. So we can (and should) boast about how much we are loved. I heard a friend say many years ago, "God loves everybody, but I'm His favorite". In a sense that is true for each of us because even if you were the only person on earth, Jesus would still have gone to the cross for you.
      So, to put things in perspective, I will admit that the most LIKES any of my weekly columns have produced to date is 166. But the Boast Post I shared about my son's college graduation already has over 400 LIKES, which I think is a credit to him and the hard work he put in to achieve his goal. Put that in your little book of facts, Urban Dictionary.

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- Banquets, Forks, Chickens, and Excuses

     I've been to several banquets recently. Hall of Fame banquets, graduating senior dinners, athletic awards, academic awards, staff banquets, fund raisers, etc. They all seem to happen in late April and May. For a college baseball coach, that's prime time busy time. But that's when the banquets are, so I go whenever possible.
     Complaining I am not. Most of the banquets have a nice meal involved. And there's normally more than one fork at the place setting, which confuses and intimidates me. And the menu usually involves chicken. Normally grilled chicken. Which is okay by me because I like and prefer grilled chicken.
     My great aunt (rest her precious soul) was like a grandparent to me and imparted much wisdom upon me growing up. She advised that if I ever invited the pastor over for dinner, I shouldn't serve him chicken. When I inquired as to why, she dramatically bellowed out a poem about chicken, written by a pastor:

"I've had 'em young and and I've had 'em old,
I've had 'em hot and I've had 'em cold,
I've had 'em tender and I've had 'em tough,
But goodness gracious, don't you think I've had enough."

     Obviously I've never forgotten that nugget of wisdom even though it was spoken to me over 40 years ago. And I thought of it recently when I was enjoying grilled chicken at a banquet for the 6th time in less than ten days. (Again, not complaining). On a side note, I also notice that at each banquet, the most popular speakers were the ones who were short and sweet. So that's what I shall be now.
     The Bible tells of a banquet in Matthew 22 where a number of invited guests made lame excuses as to why they couldn't attend. Said one, "My son has a Tee League baseball game." Said another, "My family and I are headed to Myrtle Beach for vacation." Yet another said, "I am not feeling well", and he stayed home and used his new zero turn lawn mower to mow the grass to help himself feel better. (Okay, none of these are mentioned in Matthew 22, but the sentiment is similar. And before I get nasty comments, there's nothing inherently wrong with Tee Leagues games, the beach, or zero turn lawn mowers. They're all cool things).
     Anyway, the Master in the parable ended up inviting anybody his servants could find, and they were all treated to a wonderful banquet of fine drink and grilled chicken, with more than one fork to choose from.
     I hope I don't have any excuses on the tip of my tongue when God calls me to join Him at banquets here on Earth, especially the ones that don't involve food. Perhaps He needs me to join Him on a mission trip to a foreign land where His Word needs to be shared. Perhaps He wants me to accompany Him on a short visit to encourage a friend who is struggling. Maybe He beckons me to walk with Him as we stand together against injustice and corruption. Whatever the case, I hope I'm never too busy to accept the invitation.
    And if I'm particularly fortunate, when the Earthly banquets have ended for me, they'll serve grilled chicken at the Heavenly banquet. A little BBQ sauce on the side, please. And one fork.

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: Rush and Rush Until Life's No Fun

     It's been nearly twenty years ago but I still remember that I was in a hurry to get to work that morning. I had bade my wife and children farewell and set off to conquer my college baseball coach list of To Do's for that day. Impatiently I lamented my fate of being stuck behind inconsiderate slow drivers whose To Do lists were obviously not as urgent as mine. The thought crossed my mind that I should write a column about how folks should pull off the road and let others through if and when they were holding up progress. Just as I was editing these thoughts in my mind, I came to . . .  The Intersection. An intersection destined to make a permanent impression on me.
     Back to that in a moment, but first, a few words about the local garbage refuse facility near my home. You put your garbage in the back of your truck or trunk of your car and you drive to the dump and get in line while others dump their trash ahead of you. You wait your turn, exchange a quick remark about the weather with the garbage dump guy and you move on.
     Recently I found myself four cars deep in line as an older gentleman ahead of me was placing his garbage bags into the big green thing where folks place their trash. It seemed to me that he had no sense of urgency at all, and when his task was done, he even took time to speak with and exchange pleasantries with the garbage dump guy pushing the button that controls the big green thing. At an earlier point in my life, my temperature would have begun to rise as I waited impatiently, especially because on this particular day I had plenty to do and was already running late on my way to do it. But that temperature stayed well below the boiling point because of my everlasting memory of . . . The Intersection.
     After completing his business, the gentleman at the dump that day continued on his merry way as the rest of us inched forward in anticipation of our throw the trash in the big green thing moment. We progressed to the point where a sweet old lady ahead of me slowly removed herself from her vehicle and meticulously opened her trunk and reached for the first of several garbage-filled white trash bags. Most everybody at the dump, including me 99% of the time, stays in their car and observes impatiently as the person ahead of them tosses their waste into the big green thing. But fortunately for me, the everlasting images of The Intersection made their way to the forefront of my mind's eye at that moment. I put my truck in park, got my rear end out of the front seat, walked over to the sweet old lady and helped her get all her trash into the big green thing, which she thanked me profusely for. Her car had a "God is Good" bumper sticker which I particularly liked. My day was brightened a little and it's possible hers was as well.
     Psalm 56:10 reminds us to "Be still and know that I am God." I have to reflect on this verse a lot because I have trouble being still. There's part of me that feels like I always have to be doing something in order to preserve my self worth and fulfill my purpose on a given day. Yet sometimes I think I miss out by being in such a hurry. Yes, we need to have an urgency concerning the Kingdom of God, but we don't have to be so full speed ahead in a rush that we miss out on what God may be trying to show us each and every day.
     So what was the dramatic event that occurred at The Intersection nearly twenty years ago that changed my perspective and left a lasting impression on me? Fear not, there was no accident and no one was physically harmed that morning. But I still view the scene that unfolded before my eyes that day at The Intersection as tragic in at least a couple ways. And to be factual, it wasn't even an intersection in the traditional sense. It was merely a spot where two radically different worlds met at the same point in time.
     On that particular morning, as I was speeding toward my destination, an elderly woman in a dress carrying a bag of groceries suddenly caught my eye as she crossed the road ahead of me directly in my path. I suppose she had originally miscalculated, fully believing she would have plenty of time to reach the other side before my arrival. She became aware of her miscalculation about the time she arrived in the middle of my lane in the road. Of course I slowed and eventually stopped. What happened next is still difficult for me to think about, even more difficult for me to write about, and impossible for me to explain out loud without some eye misting involved. This elderly lady who deserved to have a Boy Scout carry her groceries across the street . . . began to run. Her body and her grocery bag both jiggled awkwardly as she traversed the remaining distance to the safety of the opposite sidewalk.
     My heart nearly skipped a beat as I watched the scene unfold only a few feet before me. My windows were up so she didn't hear me scream "Noooooo! Don't run! Pleeeeeease! I'm not mad. It's okay. You don't have to run!" It was fairly obvious that she didn't feel she was in danger because I was completely stopped, yet something inside her made her feel the need to run. And it was apparent to me that her earthly body was no longer suited for the requirements of rapid movements.
     She completed her mission and once on the sidewalk, resumed her slow pace. She never looked up during the crossing of The Intersection, which was really just a spot in the road, nowhere near a stop light or a stop sign. As hard as I tried, I couldn't convince my right foot to press the accelerator. At that moment I experienced perhaps the deepest sense of shame I have ever felt in my entire life. Why did she feel she had to run? Why was I such a threat to her? What kind of monster had I become?
     Perhaps she had lived through previous times when folks weren't in such a hurry and people weren't as obsessed about the hands on a clock. Maybe she thought she was clogging the path of the important man driving his truck who was not from her generation and was possibly about to lay down on the horn to get her out of the way because he had "important" stuff to do.
     My mind was now "cluttered" with these thoughts as I realized that a tear had slowly trickled down my cheek and dropped onto my neatly pressed khaki dress pants. Eventually I was able to gather myself and continue on my journey. I snuck a glance in the rear view mirror to get one last look at the sweet old lady whom God had used to smack me in the face with a dose of reality. As the scene behind me gradually faded into the distance, my mind eventually returned to my To Do List. But I was profoundly altered that day at The Intersection. And in order to glean the lessons learned from it, I have to remind myself of that unpleasant scene often, because I'm still an impatient person most of the time.
     So let's all try to stop hollering at people who drive slow. Let's stop sighing and groaning impatiently when someone in line at the store or the garbage dump or anywhere else is taking longer than we would like. Let's order our cars to yield to pedestrians without losing our cool and staring them down. Let's stop being so busy trying to make it in life that we forget to live life. Let's be still . . . and know that He is God.