WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: Live Your Life Like You Have One More Day

     I played baseball at Appalachian State during the 1980s. Anyone who knows anything about that era knows that our biggest rival during that time was our nemesis, the Catamounts of Western Carolina. We beat them to win the conference championship my sophomore year, they beat us to win it my junior and senior year. There was a myriad of respect between the two programs, but not a lot of love lost.
     That's why I was a little surprised a couple years after my college career ended when Jack Leggett, the head coach at Western Carolina at the time, called and asked me to work one of his baseball camps. At the time I was a high school coach who had a lot of energy and enthusiasm so I quickly agreed. It didn't take me long the first day to realize that all the other coaches were either current or former Catamounts and I was a little concerned how an App guy might be accepted. After all, these were the same guys I had battled it out with on the field only a few years earlier.
     Turns out I had nothing to worry about. After some good-natured ribbing, I was quickly accepted as one of the guys. Especially by a former WCU player named Keith LeClair, who was then serving as an assistant to Coach Leggett after finishing a stint in professional baseball.
     The following summer I worked the camp again. Realizing I was driving back and forth nearly two hours a day to work the camp, Keith approached me on the first day and said, "Hey, why don't you just stay at my house this week instead of driving back and forth." He didn't have to ask twice.
     Camp was only a half day deal so we spent the afternoons playing golf and evenings either watching baseball on TV or finding a game to attend. His future wife came by most every afternoon to visit and was equally warm and accepting of me, despite my "Appness".
     A year or two later, when I became a college coach, Keith and I spent many hours together on the road recruiting. When Coach Leggett left to coach at Clemson, Keith became the head coach at Western Carolina and proceeded to lead his program to a conference championship in his first season, despite only being 26 years old at the time.
     I liked Keith. He was a positive guy and we shared a mutual love for baseball, our families, and the Lord. I remember how excited he was as the birth of his first child approached. Audrey LeClair was born on September 15, 1994, two years to the day after my first son had been born. There was no prouder father than Keith.
     Keith eventually was hired as the head coach at East Carolina, where success continued to follow him around. By then we were able to stay in touch through a new technology known as email. About the time I made a move to Lander University in South Carolina to become its head coach, I began to hear rumors that my friend Keith was experiencing a health issue but nobody could tell me exactly what it was.
     It turned out to be ALS, commonly known as Lou Gehrig's disease. Keith continued to coach for as long as he could but stepped down at about the same time I moved back to North Carolina to become head coach at Gardner-Webb in 2002.
     I had no idea how to handle Keith's illness. Not knowing whether I should call and acknowledge it and not knowing what to say to someone who has been handed a death sentence even if I did call him, I decided to send him emails. He promptly responded to all of them. His faith in the Lord while facing death was beyond inspirational. He sent out devotions to all of us on his list. He quoted Bible verses in every correspondence. He seemed thankful for what life had given him, not bitter for what ALS was taking from him. Toward the end of his life when he was only able to move his eyes, he continued to send inspirational emails via a technology that allowed him to type words using eye movements.
     My friend Keith LeClair died on July 17, 2006 at the age of 40. For many years I didn't really know what happened to Keith's family, but one summer day Keith's wife brought their son to one of my baseball camps and I was able to tell her how much I had thought about her and the kids over the years.
     Not long afterward, I became aware that little Audrey was not so little anymore and had become a strong advocate for research in the fight against ALS. I was able to get in touch with her and have her throw out the ceremonial first pitch before one of our games at Gardner-Webb.
     I recognized a quote on Audrey's twitter page as something her father taught others during his lifetime- "If you're going to put your name on something, it better be your best work". Audrey is a remarkable young lady now as are the other members of the LeClair family.
     Recently I began hosting a Facebook Live show called "Our Stories, His Glory" where I interview different folks and let them share the story of their faith journey. I've really enjoyed getting to hear those stories and it seems there are at least a few people out there who are enjoying hearing those stories, too.
     While cutting the grass on my lawn mower the other day and after noticing on Audrey's Facebook and Twitter pages that May is ALS Awareness month, it occurred to me that Audrey would be a great guest to have on my little show. I contacted her and she immediately agreed to participate. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to next Monday (May 25) at 3 p.m. when Audrey will be joining me for a conversation about her father, her family, and her faith.
     As a pulpit supply pastor, I start every message from the pulpit the same way by quoting Psalm 118:24- "This is the day the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it." I'm certain my late friend Keith LeClair would approve. In one of his many inspirational email/devotions now posted on Audrey's Facebook page he wrote: "If I could teach everyone one lesson from this lengthy fight with Lou Gehrig's Disease it would be this: 'Live your life like you have one more day and tell your family how much you love them everyday. Falling on your knees in front of God isn't a weakness, but a strength' ".
     Thank you Keith, for befriending me all those years ago when a nervous App showed up on rival Catamount turf. Thank you for the excellent conversations on those long recruiting trips. Thank you for leaving a legacy of faith to inspire the rest of us. I have a feeling you may already know this but just in case, know that even though you have been gone for some time now, your legacy lives on and you are still loved and admired. Even in App territory. 

     

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: The Wrong Kind of Exposure

   From the depths of my bowels originated a primal scream the likes of which no one in or near Sylva, North Carolina had ever witnessed, experienced, or heard tale of. Despite initially doubling over in pain, I quickly realized there was a sizable audience observing my pain and suffering. So I tried to stand upright and act as if nothing had happened as quickly as possible, but to no avail.
     Perhaps an explanation of how I ended up in the aforementioned situation would be appropriate. It happened about 30 years ago when I was working baseball camps during the summer to help make ends meet and gain exposure as a baseball coach. One such camp was a week long deal near Western Carolina University. There were 10 coaches or so and probably around 90-100 kids, ranging in ages 8 to 12.
     The kids were divided into groups based on age and sent to one of three fields at the complex where the event was held. That particular week two other coaches and I were sent to maintain order and teach basic baseball fundamentals to the youngest group of participants. One of those participants was a cute, seemingly sweet little girl with a ponytail hanging out from under her hat. She was the only girl at camp and the camp director had decided to allow her to participate even though she was only six years old and all the other participants were at least eight years of age and maturity.
     So it became my job to keep an eye on little Rachel. Cute though she was, she didn't end up being as sweet as she seemed at first glance. She was a feisty little cuss. She didn't like to follow orders and she most definitely had her own agenda. Rachel was actually a talented little ballplayer but her inability to properly adhere to instructions quickly made her my full-time job.
     The fourth morning of camp Rachel was as belligerent as ever. At one point, as I was standing only a few feet in front of the kids at home plate demonstrating the next drill we would be performing, she took it upon herself to grab a baseball, stand up, and fire a baseball at point blank range directly toward the middle portion of my being. As I said, she was a talented little player so unfortunately for me, her aim was true.
     Rachel's bullet hit me right where the men are separated from the opposite gender. That's when my "wailing heard around the world" and the ensuing doubling over in pain occurred. Knowing there were dozens of people watching the scene unfold, I tried to play it off but it was too late. My scream had registered a 3.6 on the Richter scale and all eyes were now locked in on me.
     Everyone- campers, parents, and coaches- within a two hundred yard radius was horse-laughing. One fellow coach was doubled over in laughter even further than I had been during my initial absorption of the blow. Knowing it would be useless to chastise little Rachel in any form or fashion, I simply laughed along with everyone else . . . while dying on the inside. I couldn't play it off. I had been exposed. There was no hiding it. I had to embrace it.
     I think sometimes in life we try to play things off and pretend they never happened. We seek to minimize our own mistakes and deflect attention to the faults of others. We cover up, conceal, and camouflage our imperfections in an attempt to deceive others into believing we have it all together. Our family portraits and our pictures on Facebook are all neat and happy. But somewhere in there, we have warts- both the physical and the emotional kind.
     The Bible says in Luke 8:17- "Nothing is hidden that will not become evident, nor anything secret that will not be known and come to light." We're always exposed to God, yet He loves us anyway-despite our imperfections. And I bet if we give the people we love a chance, they also will love us even when they are allowed a glimpse of those imperfections we desperately try to hide.
     John 3:20 says the light exposes us, much the same way Rowdy Rachel humbled a hot shot young baseball coach on a sunny June morning all those years ago. Everything I had done that week to appear in control, macho, and self-confident- vanished when a yardstick-sized child exposed me for the flawed human I truly was.
     I guess I should be eternally grateful to little Rachel for teaching me a lesson in humility that day. But that's just not possible when I recall how painful and embarrassing that whole ordeal was. Wherever you are Rachel, I hope you're happy. You not only exposed me, you darn near ruined me.

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: It Only Takes a Spark

     No sooner had my hand begun to reach before I knew I'd made a mistake. Yet my hand continued reaching anyway. Funny how that works. Your mind knows it's about to do something stupid yet your renegade body insists on pressing forward.
    That's why I think kind and decent folks are forced to invent various sorts of phrases designed to impart wisdom to those of us dummies who insist on committing acts of utter stupidity on a semi-regular basis. I shall now share of few of my favorite:

"Look before you leap."
"Think before you act."
"Understand what reaction will follow your action."
"Don't do something permanently stupid because you are temporarily upset."

And my mostest favorite (from the old commercial that encouraged us to wear seat belts- featuring mangled crash test dummies in staged and orchestrated crashes):
"You could learn a lot from a dummy."

Okay, and now my even more mostest favorite:
"Think once before you act, twice before you speak, and three times before you post on Facebook."

     I recall an incident that happened during my junior year of high school in which I learned an important lesson about touching spark plugs on lawn mowers. The lesson was this: Don't touch spark plugs on lawn mowers. Especially when lawn mowers are running.
     It so happened that on the fateful day in question, one of my high school baseball teammates pulled up into my driveway while I was dutifully mowing the grass on our family riding mower. He was waving one of our newly arrived team undershirts and indicating that I should come over and retrieve it from him. Our lawn mower had some sort of weird hangup where it wouldn't shut off on its own- you had to unhook the spark plug to get it to stop.
    I had performed the procedure successfully before, but on that day, my exuberance led me to make the regrettable mistake of touching the spark plug and some sort of wire at the same time, the result of which was a buzz to my hand that felt similar to being simultaneously stung by seven Japanese hornets, Cupid's arrow, and three hypodermic needles all at once.
     For some reason, my friend howled with laughter as he witnessed my body flinging itself into the air in reaction to the shock. As I descended to earth, I realized I was still alive and quickly moved to claim my hard earned undershirt. We shared a laugh and then he left. I stood there feeling alternatively stupid and a whole lot wiser both at the same time.
     Flash forward nearly forty years or so. A week or two back I was doing some mowing in the yard and noticed that my push mower was gasping for air at times and losing power along the way. I took a look toward the engine and noticed a spark plug wire thingamajig had come loose from its designated partner spark plug . The area of my brain where history is recorded and which also secretes good judgment knew better but was unable to inform my insubordinate hand soon enough to prevent it from reaching for the loose wire to secure it back to the spark plug.
      A moment later, as my skyrocketing 56-year-old body shot upwards toward infinity and beyond, I vividly recalled the incident from 1981. Upon finally landing back on planet Earth, I vowed then and there that a third strike would never occur. And back to work mowing the grass I went.
     They say those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it. But sometimes, even if we've learned from history, we still manage to repeat it. We make the same mistakes over and over again. We don't intend to, but we do.
     I'm glad God doesn't send us to the bench and give up on us after Strike One, Strike Two, or even Strike three. "You're still in the game," He says, "And I still believe in you." Peter made the same mistake three times straight by denying he knew Jesus but was reinstated by the risen Christ himself soon afterward. Jesus said in Matthew 18:22 when asked about forgiveness- "I tell you not seven times, but seventy-seven times". Some versions say "seventy times seven times": but the meaning is clear: forgiveness is infinite.
     God does not strike us with lightning when we make mistakes, even repeat mistakes. If we repent and truly seek His will, He is willing to reinstate us and put us right back to work for His Kingdom. Which is great news for a knucklehead like me who needs an occasional jolt to keep me moving in the right direction.