Chapter Closed on Club Volleyball

Another club volleyball season has come and gone.  The last one.  Our ninth year in a row as club volleyball parents … done.  That chapter has finished.   I’m sure there will be time for some sadness and grieving … once the last load of laundry is done and I can purge the sports bag of that pungent odor.

I remember when we started out with our older son and everything about the club volleyball season was new and unfamiliar.  Thank goodness we were surrounded by other parents in the same boat and we all learned together.  I’m especially thankful for one volleyball mom in particular who had been in the game a little longer than me.   I learned so much from her, although I still couldn’t tell you if a player on the court is out of rotation.   We shared bleacher seats during club seasons and school seasons.  Thank you, Friend (I think you know who you are).

  

And just a quick shout-out to the WinMan Volleyball Club, which we have been privileged to be a part of these last nine years.  Who knows??  Perhaps our involvement will continue in some way other than as athlete parents.

The last hurrah was Nationals in Saskatoon this past weekend.  My son’s team was ranked somewhere in the middle of the 40+ teams, and that’s right about where their final ranking in the tournament ended up too.

Photo Credit:  WinMan Wave Camp

I remember when my youngest started out learning the sport of volleyball.  He had the advantage of having older brothers who played, so by the time young Zackery joined a club team, we had about 4 years of experience as club parents under our belts.

Zackery enrolled in Mighty Mites to learn the basics, and went to skills camps in the summers.  When he started out, the camp t-shirts came down past his shorts. 

He never seemed to have any difficulty learning the timing, techniques and footwork needed for the sport.  His love of the trampoline seemed to continuously flow through his legs even on the volleyball court, pushing him to jump higher and increase his vertical.

Photo Credit:  WinMan Wave Camp

We’ve watched him grow, not just in stature, but also in his mental game.  Mental toughness.  That was the mantra at our house one year as my husband drilled into the boys what it meant to play through adversity.  Zack has exhibited mental toughness in spades as he has dealt with various challenges on different teams.  My son amazes me at his positive spirit and never-say-die attitude; always wanting to improve and to be the best that he can be.

I love watching my son play.  He shows grit, determination and passion for a sport that he loves.  He works hard on the court and strives to lead by example.  

He is an encourager, offering a pat on the shoulder to a teammate to commend a well-placed shot or solid block, or to help shake off and re-set after a shanked pass or a missed serve.

This past weekend at Nationals, the team had a fairly decent first day and only lost one match.  That one loss came at the hands of the eventual bronze medallists.  The luck of the draw put them in a very tough pool on the second day against top-tier teams. 

Photo Credit:  Peter Seekings

The result from day two was not what the team was hoping for, as they lost all of their matches.  But the boys Competed.  That’s “Competed” with a capital “C” … and probably an “O-M-P-E-T-E-D” too.  They challenged their opponents in each match and kept each game close.  Parents from other teams commented on how well our team played against them.  Unfortunately, “close” only counts in horseshoes.

There was emotional anguish at the end of day two, knowing that the hope of finishing in the top tier was not to be.  This was their last year, their last chance, and a Tier 1 finish wasn’t going to be realized.

On the last morning of play, the boys lost their first match and their tournament was done.  They seemed to struggle a bit and their legs looked tired.  They finished playing the night before after 9 pm and the morning game started at 7:30 am.  Morning games have never been this team’s forte!  (Because how many teenage boys function well in the mornings?!)

Photo Credit:  Peter Seekings

Some commented that the boys just didn’t want it bad enough.  I don’t think that’s the case at all.  They wanted it.  But sometimes the legs can’t give what the will wants.  The boys had competed so hard the day before that I believe they left everything on the court and had nothing in the tank for the final day.  

My husband talked to a few of the boys afterwards and tried to encourage them with these words:

The measure of who they are as young men isn’t reflected on the scoreboard, by the colour of the medal around their neck, or by their final ranking. 

The measure of who they are as young men is reflected in their skill and the strength of character that they exhibited in how they competed and conducted themselves on and off the court.

Our boys competed.  Our boys showed character.  They showed up and played and I couldn’t be prouder of my boy, and of his teammates.

Well done, WinMan.  Well done, Zackery.

Spring has sprung, the grass is riz ... I wonder where the garage sale is?

Spring is springing upon us, slowly but surely.   Along with Spring’s arrival will come the inevitable signs on the boulevards indicating it is also Garage Sale Season.    It’s the time for Spring cleaning and clearing out.  Box stuff up and try and make a buck.  So you can buy more stuff.  

 I’ve never been a “garage sale-er”.  I’m not even sure the proper term to describe someone who goes to garage sales … Scavenger?  Picker?  Rummager?  Spendthrift?

Personally, I just don’t enjoy poking through other people’s stuff.   As the saying goes, “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure”.  But I feel like I’m pillaging through their property and invading their personal history as I paw over their stuff.  Never mind that they’ve chosen to put it out there for people to see and also put a price on it.

Don’t get me wrong … I have a lot of stuff that might be garage-sale worthy.  I have a whole basement full of stuff.  Do I really need to keep those red and black checkered cropped pants from the ‘80’s that I know are in a box somewhere?  I can tell you for sure, I’m not fitting back into those pants anytime soon.  Or ever again.

But let it be noted that I am not a hoarder.  Just check off the box that says “Procrastinator” beside my name; I can always find something else more pressing to do than sort through boxes of junk in the basement.  

If I were to have a garage sale and put our stuff out on display for all to see, I would feel so exposed.  “Here’s my stuff! Have a look!  Make me an offer!” And then I expect to feel rejected when people look at the wares I’m peddling and see it for the junk it really is.  Maybe not, but that’s how I imagine I would feel if I were to ever have a garage sale.  I’d probably end up apologizing for the low quality of my trash and offer to pay people to take it off my hands.  Not really a good business model for a garage sale enterprise hoping to make a few bucks.

I’m pretty sure I’ve also got a lot of emotional junk that I carry around in the basement of my being.   If I would feel exposed and uncomfortable setting out my red and black checkered pants on a table for sale and for all to see, I am sure the level of shame and emotional distress would be increased if I bared my soul.   My personal insecurity would whisper "Rejected!" in my ear.

I struggle with forgiveness.  I say I have forgiven people when I have been hurt, but have I really?  Do I continue to carry the offense around with me in my back pocket, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice to endorse my victimhood?   By the same token, where I have wronged others and asked for forgiveness, why do I feel like my wrongs are perpetually going to be waved in my face? 

What is the measure of forgiveness?  How can I know that I have forgiven and been forgiven? 

I am certainly no theologian and make no claim to have all, or any, of the answers.  I do know that “forgive and forget” is not found in the Bible.  (http://www.gotquestions.org/forgive-forget.html)

But this is what I do know: 

When I confess my sin before God, He is faithful to forgive me.  Because of His grace extended to me, I am able to extend forgiveness and grace and love to others.  I can only be responsible for the condition of my own heart and my own relationship with Jesus Christ. 

God, in His great mercy, sees all my trash and emotional junk, and because He is God, He loves me anyway.  His arms are always open; He will never reject me.

For now those red and black checked pants will just stay boxed up, unless I decide to re-purpose them into a throw pillow or two.

Matthew 6:19-21:

¹⁹ “Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal.²⁰ Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal. ²¹ Wherever your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be.

Romans 4:14-16

¹⁴ So then, since we have a great High Priest who has entered heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to what we believe.¹⁵ This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do, yet he did not sin. ¹⁶ So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.

Isaiah 64:5, 6, 8

We are constant sinners;

    how can people like us be saved?

⁶ We are all infected and impure with sin.

    When we display our righteous deeds,

    they are nothing but filthy rags.

Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall,

    and our sins sweep us away like the wind.

⁸ And yet, O Lord, you are our Father.

    We are the clay, and you are the potter.

    We all are formed by your hand.

Washer-Whispering and Whispered Prayers

I call myself a “washer whisperer”. You’ve heard of horse whisperers communicating with horses?  Well, I have a wild washer in the basement that I need to whisper sweet nothings to on a fairly regular basis to keep it washing, rinsing and spinning.

The need for the whispering started about two or three years ago when all of a sudden the washer started chiming a different tune and blinking an error message.  A new washer definitely wasn’t in the budget, and neither was an expensive repair, but we did get it checked out for a nominal fee and had a part replaced.  The repairman left with the advice that it should be good to go, but if the error message returned within the next 30 days, we should call them back.  Of course, it was about day 33 when the error message with its not-so-amusing chiming rang out.  I didn't bother to call the repairman back.

I quickly learned what buttons needed to be pushed, and in what sequence, and what dispensers to completely empty in order to coerce the washer into another load.   Of course pulling the plug for a PF (Power Failure) for a hard re-set seemed to work too.

There had been no error messages for quite some time until last week.  Of course, this would be on the day before heading out from Winnipeg to Brandon for an overnight volleyball tournament with my son.  Kind of crucial to get some laundry done, including shorts, socks and volleyball gear, never mind the mounds of laundry for everyone else in the family.

The washer chimed its error song and I went through my usual re-set routine; power on, power off (multiple times), and finally unplug.  And then I did what I probably should have lead with … “Oh God, help me.  I really need to get the laundry done.”  

Plug in.  And wash.

You’d think I would have learned by now to perhaps start with prayer.  How often do I try and accomplish tasks and handle situations on my own first, and only when I feel things slipping away do I finally get on my knees and ask Him for help?! 

I have become a pray-er.  I may struggle with going to church on Sundays (and so I am probably considered a lost soul by Mennonite relatives), but I have never stopped talking to God and doing my best to tune my ear to hear what He wants to say to me.  

We used to go to a church where the pastor preached spending time in your "prayer closet"; just you and God, alone for a certain specified amount of time.  While I think that's a great idea, at the time I was a mom with 4 small children, and my only closet time was spent either finding clothes or sundry lost items, or hiding out for a few minutes of peace and quiet.

I struggled with feeling "less-than" because I just didn't have the time (or energy) to retreat in silent prayer.  I had an epiphany of sorts, and understood that God was going to be satisfied with whatever I could offer up to him during the course of my day.   That was incredibly freeing to me, and I believe that this revelation was what set me on the path to be a pray-er; to pray about everything; to never stop praying.

It doesn't matter if I'm driving in my car, riding on the bus, walking from here to there at the office, while I'm cooking, baking or even doing laundry.  My Father God delights in hearing from me when I pray and wait on Him.  I'm not a great orator or "out-loud" pray-er, but I know without a doubt that He hears all of my whispered prayers.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18:

¹⁶ Always be joyful. ¹⁷ Never stop praying. ¹⁸ Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:4-9"

⁴ Always be full of joy in the Lord. I say it again—rejoice! ⁵ Let everyone see that you are considerate in all you do. Remember, the Lord is coming soon.

⁶ Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. ⁷ Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

⁸ And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.⁹ Keep putting into practice all you learned and received from me—everything you heard from me and saw me doing. Then the God of peace will be with you.

Life sucks. God is good. The end. Part II. (Or … Always Pray. Never Give Up.)

I wrote my previous post on December 9, 2015, entitled "Life sucks. God is good. The end" and two weeks later, my husband was terminated from his job.  Life sucks.   Today, February 1, 2016, was his first day of a new job.  God is good.  The end.

Much has happened in the six weeks between termination and re-activation.  As I look back at how everything unfolded, I can see how God has been orchestrating and preparing us for the situations we found ourselves in.

God had already been planting seeds for change in both of us.  Eric was hoping to get out of the truck so he could be home more with the family.  He had been thinking of selling the truck and working in a completely different field, possibly even back into sales.

For me, I was having to adjust to having my husband home again.  All the time.  Every day.  I love him, but my grace has a limit.  I needed to know that if he was going to be home, all the time, that he was going to pull his weight around the house.  Fix things.  Do dishes.  Make meals.  Do dishes.  Yard work.  Do dishes.

Early in fall, we traded in our older used van for two newer, smaller vehicles, and as we sat in the dealership in the midst of negotiations and in between test drives, Eric said, “I think I could sell cars.”  He even went for coffee with our salesman (an old friend of Eric’s from college) to talk about selling cars. 

On a cold late December day, had we been able to find the block heater cord for the Ford Escape when three of us had looked for it, Eric wouldn’t have searched up the number for the dealership, and may not have seen the ad Birchwood Ford placed looking for salespeople.  He went down to the dealership right away, and wouldn’t you know it, that block heater cord was front and centre and in plain view.  Except none of us had seen it.   I interpret those events as God’s hand at work.  Not only did we find the block heater cord that day, a seed of hope grew, and a new resume was written.

Today was Eric’s first day of work at Birchwood Ford. So if you’re looking for a new or “pre-owned” vehicle, contact him and he’d love to get you behind the wheel of the right vehicle for you (shameless plug).  Or if you're in the market for a highway tractor (a big truck), we've got one of those to sell too.

My biggest fear when Eric came home with the news that his contract had been cancelled, was that his already fragile emotional state would shatter completely.   During his many years of living with major depression, he has always assured me that he has never made a plan to end his life, but I wondered if this blow would be the thing that pushed him over the edge.  

I have been praying for Eric and his emotional well-being for a long time; most of our 26 ½ years of married life.   After a number of years, my prayer was whittled down to “Help!” and “How long?”  I don’t know how often I prayed this Psalm:

Psalm 13
¹ O Lord, how long will you forget me (Eric)? Forever?
    How long will you look the other way?
² How long must I (Eric) struggle with anguish in my (his) soul,
    with sorrow in my (his) heart every day?
    How long will my (his) enemy have the upper hand?
³ Turn and answer me, O Lord my God!
    Restore the sparkle to my (his) eyes, or I will die.
⁴ Don’t let my enemies gloat, saying, “We have defeated him!”
    Don’t let them rejoice at my downfall.
⁵ But I trust in your unfailing love.
    I will rejoice because you have rescued me.
⁶ I will sing to the Lord    because he is good to me.

Today’s “Daily Bread” devotional reading was from Luke 18 which tells the parable of the persistent widow.  In the parable, the widow goes to the judge repeatedly asking for justice.  After awhile the judge grants her request just to get her out of his hair because she's driving him nuts.  Luke 18:1 sums up the reason for the parable:  “One day Jesus told his disciples a story to show that they should always pray and never give up.”  Always pray. Never give up.

I’ve had seasons where I have felt like I was praying without ceasing, but I couldn’t see any answers.  Nothing seemed to change.  How long, O Lord?  Always pray.  Never give up.

I’ve been so encouraged in the last 6 weeks.  It’s not been easy, but I’ve been able to see where God has worked to bring a measure of wellness to Eric’s emotional health.  I’m not saying he’ll never be depressed again, but I am so proud of him for how he has handled the ups and downs of life lately.  15, or even 10 years ago, he would have climbed in bed and just stayed there for at least a week. 

Always pray. Never give up.  Because sometimes life sucks.  But God is good.  The end.

But I trust in your unfailing love.

    I will rejoice because you have rescued me.

 I will sing to the Lord because he is good to me.

Life sucks. God is good. The end.

As I was browsing through Facebook posts the other day, I happened upon one person’s status update describing her horrible, terrible, awful, rotten day.  That might be an excessive description, but you get the picture.  This mom was having a Tough day, with a capital "T".  As I often do, I took a peek at some of the comments that people had written, and one response was particularly engaging and encouraging.   In it, the woman identified with many aspects of the horrible, terrible, awful, rotten day, because the reality is, we’ve all had those kinds of days, and after every mention of each calamity, she qualified it with “God is good.”

Despite everything that goes on in life, despite a horrible, terrible, awful, rotten day, week, month or year, God is good.  Her words, not mine, but I’m owning them and I’ve even put them on a fridge magnet already … “Life sucks.  God is good.  The end.”

My husband is having a horrible, terrible, awful, rotten "season" right now.  Life is hard when you suffer from major depression.  He is my hero.  I am amazed at how well he does to wake up most mornings and keep slogging through life.  He doesn't think he's doing well at all because life just feels so hard;  he has a difficult time recognizing the positives.  Every day that he gets out of bed and gets moving, it is not just a small victory, but a major feat.

I really do believe that God is good.  In the middle of the horrible, terrible, awful, rotten things that go on in my little world, or in the great big world, I choose to believe in my God who loves me and who is, by His very nature, the essence of goodness.  

I'm sure there are those who think I'm naive and this is a trite sentiment and a complete waste of emotional effort, but if I don't have God in my corner, who is for me and what do I have?  God isn't to blame when life sucks.  Life is just like that; sometimes it sucks.  And then there are times when it's awesome and humming along!  God is present in every situation, and I choose to believe and proclaim in every situation that He is good.

Life sucks.  God is good.  The end.

Romans 8:31-39:

 31 What shall we say about such wonderful things as these? If God is for us, who can ever be against us? 32 Since he did not spare even his own Son but gave him up for us all, won’t he also give us everything else? 33 Who dares accuse us whom God has chosen for his own? No one—for God himself has given us right standing with himself. 34 Who then will condemn us? No one—for Christ Jesus died for us and was raised to life for us, and he is sitting in the place of honor at God’s right hand, pleading for us.

 35 Can anything ever separate us from Christ’s love? Does it mean he no longer loves us if we have trouble or calamity, or are persecuted, or hungry, or destitute, or in danger, or threatened with death? 36 (As the Scriptures say, “For your sake we are killed every day; we are being slaughtered like sheep.”) 37 No, despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ, who loved us.

38 And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. 39 No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Fix your eyes upon Jesus

Fix your eyes upon Jesus.

Those words have been running through my head for a couple of weeks now.  It’s sort of become my daily mantra.

I often feel overwhelmed and consumed by various distractions, disturbances and diversions that life throws at me. In those moments it is easy for my focus to shift and I lose sight of what's truly important.  Some days it feels like I've taken my eye off the ball completely, and it ends up smacking me in the face, figuratively speaking of course (although that actually happened in a soccer game at least once).

 

The news these days is filled with so much turmoil; stories about terror, corruption, crime and war.   More often than not, we’re inundated on social media, television and movies with negative, sometimes disturbing, thoughts and images.  Commenters on social media take great delight in the maliciousness of their words and maligning perfect strangers.

 

Distractions.  Disturbances.  Diversions.

Fix your eyes upon Jesus.

I was reminded of the story of Peter when he saw Jesus walking towards him, walking on the water.  It was in the wee hours of the morning and the disciples thought it was a ghostly apparition walking towards them.  It goes without saying that they were terrified.  But then Jesus speaks to them and says “Don’t be afraid!  I’m here!”  Peter puts on a brave front and calls out, “Lord?  If that’s really you, then tell me to come out to you walking on the water.”  And Jesus says, “Come.”

 

Isn’t that always Jesus’ way?  “Come to me.”  Don’t be afraid.  Come. To Me.

Peter starts walking on the water and is actually doing it!   But he gets distracted by the volatility of the wind and the waves and starts focusing on what’s going on around him, instead of keeping his eyes fixed on Jesus.  His focus has shifted and he starts to sink.

Fix your eyes upon Jesus.

When Peter began to sink, Jesus reached out and grabbed him and pulled him up out of the water.   And with what I can only imagine was the gentlest rebuke possible, Jesus asked Peter, “Why did you doubt me?  How little faith you have!”

 

Fix your eyes upon Jesus.

I'm trying, Lord.

Hebrews 12:2 ...And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.

 

Oh soul are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness to see?
There's light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free!

 

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of Earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.

 

Warning: Low levels

You may recognize the warning icon.  It illuminates in vehicles when the tire pressure is low and has fallen below the prescribed PSI.  In recent years I have felt like it’s been the bane of my existence. Ok, maybe that’s a little dramatic; it’s just been a pain in the ass.

The first time I saw this icon pop up, I was driving our new-to-us Toyota Sienna and it was an extremely cold winter day in January, 2009.  We had only had the van for a couple of months, so everything about the vehicle was still quite new to me, including this warning light.   I looked it up in the manual, figured out what it meant, and then tried my best to determine whether I really had an issue with one of the tires, or if it was just an effect of the frigid winter temperatures.

It seemed like every couple of months, that warning light in the Sienna would go on, even though a check of the tires showed they were pretty close to where they needed to be.  Maybe a PSI of 33 instead of 35 … but just enough of a dip in pressure to activate the signal.  We had some service work done on the Sienna a couple of weeks ago and the mechanic at the garage told me that the diagnostic check of the van’s systems indicated everything was in good working order except that the low tire pressure sensor needed to be replaced.  No doubt because the annoying thing was lit up so much of the time.

I remember that very cold day in January of 2009 when that warning light first went on because my husband was quite ill and in the hospital. I was balancing my time between being with him at the hospital, being at home looking after the boys who were then aged 10, 12, 14 and 16, and being at work.  It was a stressful time, and I know I didn’t always manage the stress very well. 

If people would come equipped with a warning light that indicated low energy levels, tiredness, fatigue and emptiness, I believe mine would often be lit up with blinking strobe lights, beeps and sirens, because there are so many days that I feel like I am completely flat and running on empty.

But I come by the tiredness and fatigue honestly since I have had low iron levels for quite a number of years.  The doctor called me the other day with the results of my recent blood tests and she said “Good news!  Your iron levels haven’t gone down!”  My iron levels actually went up … one point.  My doctor and I joked that at this rate, maybe my iron levels will be up to where they should be by the time I’m 80.

So we just traded in the Sienna for a newer, smaller used vehicle.  However within the first week of having this wonderful new vehicle, the low tire pressure warning light has come on twice!  I know which tire is the offending one and will need to have it checked out to make sure any slow leak is fixed. 

But once again, it feels like this low pressure warning light is in my face as an ongoing issue.  I’m wondering if I need to acknowledge that warning light, not just to check the air pressure in the tires of the vehicle, but also to conduct a personal inventory of sorts to see whether I’m running on empty too.

When my husband was in the hospital, a friend came to visit  and handed me a little silver heart.  It was a solid, tangible item that I could hold on to; to remind me that we were loved and cared for.  I would get dressed in the morning to go to the hospital or to work and I put that little silver heart in my pocket and throughout the day I would touch it and be reminded that I wasn’t alone.  During those days, that little silver heart was a conduit to fill me with peace and calm, and a tangible reminder of the love of Jesus.

What kinds of things, activities and relationships do I fill and re-fill myself with?  Pumping air into the car tires is an easy fix to turn that warning light off and remedy the problem, but what do I pour into myself, and pour myself into, to boost my life-levels?  Where do I go?  Who do I turn to?