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Thursday 01apr2010 |
A lesson upon turning
40: Life is finite. At 9:25 am on Wed 01apr1970,
I tricked the world. I was due on
Easter Sunday – 29mar1970 – but I came a few days later, the only sibling to
be late. I was supposed to be a girl –
at least according to an aunt who “always knew” what the gender would be –
and when I emerged as a little boy, my 5-year old sister was devastated. Dad, who had been with Mom all night
waiting on my birth, had just left for a few minutes to check on Duke, Doug,
and Sonja. And that is when I was
born. And of course, all this happened
on April Fool’s Day. In the intervening 40 years,
many lessons have been constructed in my brain. Perhaps it is natural for one of these
lessons to rise to the top as I reach 40: Life is finite. How have I come to this remarkable
conclusion? Within the past year, I
have seen one of my closest colleagues at Penn State retire; I have seen my
secretary, who once gave me the best advice I ever got about teaching (“Oh
honey, I treat every student just like my own child.”), battle cancer; and as
for myself, I have watched myself fall further behind on an increasing number
of projects and goals and even dreams. As of today, as we approach
Good Friday 2010, when Jesus, You sacrificed everything You had for us, I am
ready to prune down my “to do list”.
Building efficiency ... is not my aim.
Rather, living special “kairos moments” that can be lifted to You,
that is my aim. I am eager to spend
time nurturing and enjoying my family, which You have gifted to me for only
some small number of years. Lauren,
Sabrina, and my soulmate Stephanie. I
am eager to be part of transforming children’s lives, watching their eyes
twinkle as they realize the freedom and power that can be theirs. I am eager to drop a lot of “stuff”, the
long part of the to-do list that leads to little. Of course, in the meantime,
I’ll need to keep my day job. And I
will struggle with the pruning. But on
my 40th birthday, it is time to prune. Life is finite. |
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Wednesday 10feb2010 |
Valentine’s Day
dance from this past Sunday. On Sunday, my two girls and
I went to the annual YMCA Daughter-Daddy Valentine’s Day dance, at the Ramada
Inn. Both girls wore matching dresses
with a pink-heart design. They looked
beautiful. When we arrived at the
dance, dads and daughters were on the floor, dancing to songs ranging from
“Butterfly Kisses” to “YMCA”. My girls
wanted to do the craft, for which there was a 20 minute line. And since we were in line for so long, we
missed most of the snacks, including the heart-shaped cookies. By the time we reached the
craft table, the colored sand was gone, and the craft idea deflated into a
less-than-exciting adventure. Sabrina asked, “When are we going home, Daddy?”
with those eyes that pull for attention.
On the way out the door, the YMCA folks had a small candy – a sucker
for Lauren, and a peanut-butter chocolate for Sabrina – and nicely-formed
carnations. “What color would you
like?” the woman asked Lauren. “I’ll
take that yellow-red one. It’s the
only one like it in the bunch.” And
Sabrina took the red carnation. Once
we arrived at home, Sabrina trimmed the carnations and put them in a
vase. Later when I asked the girls
what was their favorite part of the dance, they said, “The flower.” That’s what they remembered best from the
day; that flower was their symbol for the day. Symbols capture the
complexity of life and focus it on something tangible and simple. I haven’t yet decided what will be my
symbol that represents my Valentine’s Day with my beautiful wife
Stephanie. How do I capture 10-plus
years of marriage, all that we share, all that we are and are becoming, in a
symbol? I don’t think I can. But then again, maybe I don’t need to
capture it all. Maybe it’s OK for me
just to capture the story of how I feel at the moment. And with Stephanie, and with my girls, I
feel … filled to the brim. |
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Sunday 31jan2010 |
A CENTER story … President Reagan and Character. The gunshot that changed my
life happened 2 days before my 11th birthday.
It happened at the Washington Hilton, and President Ronald Reagan had
just finished giving a speech to the Construction Trades Council. “After the speech, I left the hotel through
a side entrance and passed a line of press photographers and TV cameras,”
Reagan later wrote. All the major TV
networks were watching the event. And
then it happened. “I was almost to the
car when I heard what sounded like two or three firecrackers over to my left
- just a small fluttering sound, pop, pop, pop.” Of course, Reagan hadn’t
heard firecrackers. He had heard shots
from the gun of John Hinckley, Jr. In
an instant, Secret Service agent Jerry Parr bent Reagan at the waist and
shoved him into the open limousine door.
Reagan later wrote that as he landed on the transmission hump, “I felt
a pain in my upper back that was unbelievable. It was the most excruciating
pain I had ever felt.” “Get us out of here!” yelled
Parr to the driver. Telling the story in slow
motion doesn’t capture the urgency of the moment. Hinckley’s six shots took two seconds; the
limousine door slammed shut one second later; the President’s car was moving
five seconds later. Reagan yelled to
Parr, “Get off! I think you've broken one of my ribs.” When Parr checked over the President, he
looked OK, so the car headed for the White House. But then Reagan coughed into his
handkerchief, and his hand was covered in “red frothy blood”. Parr knew that was bad
news. Something must have punctured
the President’s lung; Reagan thought that Jerry Parr had broken one of his
ribs as he landed on top, and perhaps that rib punctured the lung. Parr directed the driver to get to the
George Washington University Hospital.
As they drove, Reagan started looking pale. By the time the limousine reached the
hospital, the doctors and nurses were ready.
The agents jumped out of the car, and Parr reached his hand to help
Reagan out. And then came what Michael
Deaver remembers as “the Reagan Moment”.
Reagan emerged from the car by himself, stood tall, buttoned the
jacket of his brand new blue suit, and walked into the hospital as President
of the United States. He walked
through the doors of the hospital … and then his legs lost their strength and
he had to be caught by others. Later it was found that one
of Hinckley’s bullets had ricocheted off the limousine door and landed within
one inch of the President’s heart. The
bullets were in fact explosive-tip bullets, but none of the six bullets
exploded. Reagan later quipped to his
wife, “Honey, I forgot to duck.” In Fall 2001 I heard Peggy
Noonan tell this story to Chris Matthews on the TV show Hardball. And it changed
my life. How did President Reagan have
the presence of mind – after being shot – to walk into the hospital with his
dignity? As I pondered it over the
next few days, I considered how Reagan must have built his character over his
seven decades. “Character” was one of
President Reagan’s best friends, and in his time of need, Character was there
with him. What would my character
be? Probably everyone asks himself or
herself a similar question at some point. What values will Darrell stand for … when
tested? Will I crumple into smallness,
or will I be dignified, forgiving, and courageous like President Reagan? Will I see the world as being against me,
or will I see an opportunity to have an impact on people as President Reagan
did? Will I choose to fall away
quietly, or will I re-dedicate my life to the purpose God has for me? That Christmas 2001 my wife
Stephanie bought me Peggy Noonan’s book When
Character Was King, and also Reagan,
In His Own Hand. I raced through
both books – I couldn’t set them down.
Reading those books was one of the pivotal events in my life. Maybe many of us have such life changing
events – I hope so. For me, hearing
the story about how our 40th President showed his character in a
time of crisis launched me on a journey that continues to the present day. |
TO READ … Noonan, When
Character was King. (p 167-172). http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reagan_assassination_attempt |
