WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: Yet Another Bird Blessing

     A few months ago I wrote a piece about bird blessings. As you may recall, I have been the recipient of a number of bird blessings in my life. The most memorable of those was a gift one Sunday morning from a pigeon flying above as I, holding a small Stroupe child in my arms, walked into church. I received a bird blessing right smack dab on the head, which oozed down onto my forehead as I scrambled to get to the nearest Men's room.
     The other bird blessings included a murmuration in one instance and in another case, a mama bird building a nest on our front door decoration and us receiving the blessing of witnessing five little birds grow and eventually fly way- leaving only their droppings behind as a reminder of our time together.
     As you also may know from reading my ramblings, I was a college baseball coach for many years until I decided to move on to the next chapter in my life at the end of this past season. I can tell you honestly there has not been a moment since I made that decision where I have had second thoughts. It was time and I still know I did the right thing by moving on.
     That doesn't mean it has been easy. Every once in a while something will happen that will remind me I'm not a coach anymore. Those sudden realizations could be discouraging if I allowed them to be, but I don't.
     But there was a recent day in which the realizations were displaying themselves a little more readily than normal. Our season had ended a few days previous, and I was back at the office wrapping up some of the many details that require attention when a college baseball season ends. I'll admit I was not in an extremely positive frame of mind, which is unusual for me as I consider myself to be an optimistic, positive person. I was not dejected, sad, or grouchy- I was simply having a day where I was struggling to convince myself to count my blessings and accentuate all the positives in my life.
     As all these thoughts rolled around in my muddled mind, I witnessed an event before my very eyes that was destined to rearrange my day. Near the entrance to my office building (former office building now) there is a glass entrance door. Suddenly and without warning, a small bird in mid flight slammed face first into the door, obviously not realizing that the clear door was something to be avoided. The poor little thing's body was flung backwards and he landed flat on his back on the cement below my feet.
     At least he died instantly, I thought. (Sorry, but I'm calling it a "he" because I have no idea of a bird's gender unless it is perched on a nestful of eggs). I stared at the pitiful creature a second or two, feeling sorry for him that his demise had occurred before my very eyes. But to my astonishment, after a few seconds of lying flat on his back with his beak and claws sticking straight up in the air, this resilient creation of God lifted himself up and flew away, looking even stronger than he had before the crash.
     For whatever reason, I chuckled out loud. I was so taken back by the event that I stood in my tracks for at least two or three minutes reliving in my mind what I had just witnessed. Super Bird had taken a lickin' and kept on tickin'. He didn't wallow in his misery. He didn't lie there feeling sorry for himself. He didn't file a lawsuit against the window. He didn't look to me or anyone else for sympathy. He simply picked himself up by his proverbial bootstraps, dusted himself off, and soared toward greater heights. It was a fabulous bird blessing.
     Psalm 145:14 says "The Lord upholds all who fall and lifts up all who are bowed down." I have fallen many times in my life. And each time the Lord was there to lift me right back up. Let me be clear that I don't consider myself to have fallen merely because I am in a waiting period in life to see what's next. Not even close. I am excited about what's next. Where I could fall would be if I begin to lose faith and trust in God that He is directing my path. I could fall if I doubt God's provision and attempt to manipulate or arrange everything on my own strength. I could crash and fall flat on my back with my beak facing upward if, for even one moment, I entertain the thought that God is unable or unwilling to direct my path for His glory.
     Thank you, little Super Bird, for your impromptu lesson in perseverance and persistence. I hope your little head is completely healed and screwed on straight now. I hope you soar to new heights, providing your fellow bird friends with a few blessings as you are able. And may God use you to provide a bird blessing to a human or two like me along the way as well.

   

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: My Father's Eyes

     It was only a quick glance so I didn't get a real good look at the image on the wall. But it did cause me to do a double take. And once I realized what I was looking at, I chuckled a little. There were other people in the room so I played it off as if it had never happened. But it had. And in those few moments, something profound occurred in my life.
     Back to that in a moment. First I will acknowledge that this coming Sunday is Father's Day. As a father of three boys, my main goal for Sunday is that I will at least get a text from each of them, especially the one who is currently at home from college for the summer. But I won't fret if I don't. Two reasons why- 1)boys tend to forget important dates and occasions and 2)I know they love me regardless.
     In fact, it's hardly fair to call them boys these days. They are men now. The oldest two are college graduates who are gainfully employed and the aforementioned third just completed his freshman year of college. As a father, I am proud of them and their accomplishments. But to be honest, on Father's Day, I don't think much about my fatherhood. I tend to think of my own Dad instead.
     Dad is 82 and doesn't get around as well as he used to. But no matter, he is still plenty strong physically, mentally, and spiritually. He remains the most important male figure in the history of my life experience. For each of my 20,276 days of life (yes, I counted), I have felt the assurance of the love of an earthly father. What a blessing. For those of you who haven't experienced that or who have lost your father, I am truly sorry. I don't know what it feels like to have lost a father or to have lived a day wondering whether or not my father loved or cared about me.
     My dad has never partaken in any vices such as smoking, drinking, gambling, cursing, or expressing interest in any of the 3.8 billion females on planet Earth not named Brenda Stroupe. His preference and allegiance was always directed toward my appreciative mom.
     Quite often males who become adult parents will catch themselves lecturing or scolding their children and will suddenly pause, lift their hands high above their heads and say something like- "Oh my gosh, I've turned into my father." This is not usually uttered in a complimentary manner, as many a young man promised himself as a youth that he wouldn't follow in his father's footsteps someday.
     My brother and I were having a conversation with Dad recently, reminiscing about some of the "Dad-isms" we were exposed to back in the day. One thing Dad would always say- "Get home before 12, nothing good happens after midnight." We probably disagreed then but I have told my own sons that same thing for many years now. Perhaps Dad was right all along.
     So how does the glance at the image on the wall fit in with all this? It fits in, trust me. I was standing in a doctor's office on that particular day. I tend to look at the certificates and the pictures on the wall when I'm in a doctor's office and this day was no exception. A passing glance at one of the images made me pause for a moment and think to myself- "Hey, that looked like my dad." Of course my eyes immediately returned back to the image and I realized I wasn't looking at a picture at all. I was looking at a mirror.
     Amy Grant recorded a Christian song many years back entitled "My Father's Eyes". The chorus of that song goes something like this, (altered only to apply to me as a male): "When people look inside my life, I want to hear them say, he's got his father's eyes. Eyes that find the good in things, when good is not around. Eyes that find the source of help, when help just can't be found. Eyes full of compassion, seeing every pain. Knowing what you're going through and feeling it just the same- just like my father's eyes." Obviously she was speaking of her Heavenly Father, whose perfection no earthly father could ever match.
     But as I chuckled after mistakenly thinking for a moment that I was gazing at a picture of my dad when I was actually viewing my own countenance in a mirror, I decided that having my earthly father's eyes wasn't such a bad thing. Turning into my father and following in his footsteps is my privilege. I am proud to look like my dad on the outside, and I hope, on the inside as well.
    My dad was born on March 22, 1937, around 1:30 a.m.- living proof that my dad is not always right after all. In that instance, something good did happen after midnight.

   

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: Stars Are People Too

     It was the summer of 1981, possibly the best summer of my life. Okay, maybe 1985 rivals it- that was the summer I began hanging out with a classmate at Appalachian State University. Thirty-five years later, for whatever reason, she still likes hanging out with me- and has indicated that she is likely to hang out with me until death do us part, assuming I behave.
     But 1981 was memorable as well. After completing my junior year of high school, I was a member of the state champion American Legion baseball team from Cherryville, NC. The entire experience was a blast. As we made our run through the playoffs, more and more fans showed up at our games. So fanatical were these followers that they often arrived at the field before we players did, forcing officials to block off parking spots for us. As we made our way into the park, there were usually dozens of well wishers to greet us along the way. It was the closest I've ever come in my life to appreciating what it felt like to be a celebrity. We were the toast of the town.
     On one particular evening, the crowd was bigger and louder than ever and I was pumped up to play. During one of my At Bats, I fouled a pitch up into the portable bleachers that had been brought in to accommodate the large crowds. I noticed a bit of a commotion in the area where the ball had landed but didn't think much about it. We went on to win the game and continue our streak so I was in a good mood after the game. At least until I was told that the foul ball I had hit landed directly in the eye socket of a fan in the stands. Ironically, that fan happened to be a family friend who was like a second mom to me.
     Myra ended up being okay but had a huge shiner for the remainder of our run through the playoffs. Of course I was not responsible for her injury in a deliberate sense, but I still felt a degree of guilt so I promised I would try to hit a homerun for her during the state championship game- a promise I was able to keep.
     In a recent Major League baseball game in Houston, a Chicago Cubs player named Albert Almora smacked a line drive into the stands near the third base dugout. Unfortunately the ball struck a 4-year-old girl who was seated beside her father a few rows from the field. Said Almora after the game- "As soon as I hit it I looked in the stands and my eyes locked on to her and I saw it hit her." It was an awful moment for Almora, and even though it was obviously not his fault, he felt distraught. He watched as the child's father rushed her up the aisle and out the nearest exit.
     A discussion about safety at ballparks and potential solutions would be appropriate at this point, but that is not the point of this writing. First, I will say that from all accounts, it appears the little girl is doing well and will recover in due time. The family has decided to try to keep the matter as private as possible. Understandable.
     What I found truly mesmerizing was the scene a few minutes later when Almora went over to the spot where the incident occurred and spoke to the female security guard who was stationed in the section where the little girl had been sitting. Apparently he wanted to hear the security guard's version of what she saw and experienced, seeking reassurance that the girl was conscious when she was whisked away.
     Realizing that this huge, strong, bigger-than-life professional baseball player was overcome with emotion during their discussion, the security guard wrapped her arms around Almora and pulled his head to her shoulder, where he began to sob uncontrollably while she cradled him-  much like a mom would cradle a child whose heart had been broken by some type of life calamity. Of course, the little girl was the primary victim, but in some way, I can't help but feel some sympathy for Almora as well.
     Society treats celebrities plenty well. They tend to make gobs of money and have opportunities in life most people could never even dream of. Everywhere they go, people smile at them and say mostly nice things to them. They receive praise and admiration and have fan clubs. People want selfies with them. They get to live in nice homes in nice neighborhoods and fly first class on airplanes. I don't feel sorry for them. And I'm not asking anybody else to feel sorry for them.
     But alas, they are human. They have feelings. They have insecurities, fears, frustrations, and challenges like anybody else. I think society tends to dehumanize those who are in the public eye a little too much. When most of us make a mistake, a few folks near and dear to us tend to know about it. If someone in the public eye makes a mistake, the whole world knows about it and they become fodder for late night talk shows.
     The Bible tells the story of the Disciple Peter's growing fame after the ascension of Jesus. As Peter and the disciples took the good news of Jesus' redemptive sacrifice and resurrection throughout the land, they became celebrities of sorts, especially Peter. Acts 10:25-26 tells of a fascinating encounter between Peter and one of his admirers- "When Peter entered, Cornelius met him, and fell at his feet and worshiped him. But Peter raised him up, saying, 'Stand up, I too am just a man'."
     Human beings who achieve earthly fame don't deserve the "celebrity worship" many people practice in their presence. And I won't disagree that many celebrities are spoiled and out of touch. But the scene in the ballpark that night in Houston reminded me that they are nonetheless human. And for a few seconds, Albert Almora discarded his celebrity, let down his guard, and demonstrated his humanity by placing his head on the shoulder of a loving, temporary surrogate mom, who held him while he sobbed. And in doing so, both of them showed us all that deep down, we are all human and in many ways, we are all alike.