Sentimentally speaking.

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What’s one thing you own that holds deep sentimental value?

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Was thinking about this on the way to pick up coffee for my bride this morning.  

“…one thing you own.” 

Honestly cannot think of a thing.  There are bins full of them in the crawl space.  Biding their time until our next Goodwill run.  But I can recall the many moments in my life that were true blessings and gifts I never imagined receiving.  Things not just granted to me,  but those in my life.  So perhaps what I own or possess in one sense is the opportunity to play a part in creating some of those moments again.  Not simply for me.  

But now, moreso for others.  

“Things” of the deepest and most lasting value. 

Becasue if I do a deeper dive on into that next apparel related thing, what holds just as much or more value for me is seeing how others experience those true blessings and gifts themselves.  

Like when things finally click.  That salvific sense of accomplishment.  Being praised for doing good.  Seeing who they really are.  

And just being.  

When you can experience those kinds of moments, there is nothing left to garner or grab.  

It has absolutely nothing to do with what you own.  

Just what you choose to do with what time you have been given.  

To me, that holds the most value. 

Ever. 

Sentimentally speaking. 

No longer dead and at my end.

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What’s the worst travel experience you’ve ever had?

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I had been on one in particular for quite some time.  

The errors in judgement.  Poor or no character. Being judgemental. Choosing to let ego and pride assume control.  The ongoing reliance on others to provide my sense of value and worth.  My decision treat the pain, isolation and loss in unhealthy manners.  Turning away from He who forgave me all of it faster than I could say “Bob’s your uncle.”

All of which led me here. 

And as Mr. Frost so eloquently posited it, “…the best way out is always  through.” 

Not the end in this case per se.  

But rather, retracing my missteps back out of this dismal route and finding new way; by carving my best life path through metanoia.  Undergoing a  profound and fundamental transformation of my body, heart, mind and most importantly, soul.  

In one word, repentance.  

It all remains a work in progress.  This is definitely the long game. 

You see where those flowers end this side of the sign?  That is about where I am these days.  On my way to find their siblings. 

And when they ask us to tell of  our best travel experience, down the road some day, I will share some of what I have found on the way out and back into living and life.  

No longer dead and  at my end. 

Not mine.

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Each trying or unforgiving circumstance I enter, cross and exit has within it a specific purpose. To remove some of my layers. That veneer that I have allowed to accumulate over time.  Diminishing and hiding  some of my best features.

Persevering through those moments of adversity, no matter how arduous, is how they come to be stripped away. Revealing all the best that I was  – even when I thought I  was  at my worst.

So when I  find yourself alone, lost in the midst of an inhospitable expanse – or – within the emptiness of my own personal confinement, I sense that things may begin to close in about me.

But as I learned, all is not lost.

I need not drift away, carried by the current of circumstance.  Or,  be held hostage by my demons of doubt, fear and anxiety.  I could access the transcendent quality that always existed within.  One that  powered  my ability to persist.

Will.

Not of my making.

But solely of His creation.

And by so doing, I  was able to do far more than just simply hang on. Merely get by and through it. Or simply,  survive.

When I chose His over mine, I found  that level of perseverance that led me to embrace all unforgiving circumstances.

To thrive despite the intensity of the adversity.

And become more than what I ever was. .

Willing it to be so.

Through His.

Not mine.

That just gave me the willie’s.

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What was your first ever videogame?

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It will come as no shock to you that my scheme today will employ some poetic license, and veer towards the figurative side of the ball.  Hope no one takes offense at this option.  

Mario with the youngins aside, if I break down the fundamentals on this assignment, I see “video” and “game”. That took me back to the only time I have ever spent playing on a screen.  

Back in the stone ages, when I pounded the rock as an offensive lineman in highschool and college football, I spent hours viewing game film. On this contraption. 

Scouting an upcoming opponent.  Learning how to improve and grow to better face them on the field. Sitting in those little desks, in a dark classroom. With a pinch of “Cope” between my cheek and gum.  Communicating in grunts. Enveloped in the aroma of football funk.  

A compelling teaching tool, providing instantaneous, honest feedback as to how you performed.  More importantly, stark, genuine evidence of how you prepared.  If you went through the motions off season, in season and the week leading up to the game, it sure as heck would be known to all.  No hiding from that whatsoever.  A cornerstone of building positive and lasting football habits.  But moreso, life ones. 

Makes me tear up just thinking about it.  

Sigh. 

Anyways. 

Coach held the clicker. The implement of lasting life or imminent death. He could speed up the film to a play, series or drive he wanted to focus upon. If you did good, you might receive some praise, via coaching mode.  Like “…you see what Hahn did there boys?  You need to keep your hips lower and your feet going like he did.” 

Conversely,  you may become the focal point of exactly what not to do.  

Like “…you see what Hahn did there?  I have no idea who taught him to block like that, but if you guys  want our fullback to see his 18th birthday, NEVER block like that.  I would ask where your head is Hahn, but it seems apparent to me and all in this room.”

If the whole line blocked well, then a batch of kudos may appear in a half-dozen or so back and forths of that play.  Not many words.  Just praise via his decision to share it over and over, leading us to repeat it in our heads and in ourselves again and again.

A great form of some fatherly affirmation for a job well done. 

(Oh, and Bo was not my coach. He just happened to be in  the only old school one I could find.)

Heaven forbid we all screwed the pooch as linemen.  Worse yet, as the entire offensive unit.  

Yikes.  

Thank goodness the video of our games was captured on 16mm film.  A media that tended to become brittle, degrade and disintegrate over time.  If not, we would still be watching film from our collectively poor effort at RB in ’76.  

“Who’s the best? RB, RB!

Who’s the best, RB, RB!”

That just gave me the willie’s.