People I Dislike: Kimberly Thompson

When it comes to life, the toughest thing sometimes is just living. It takes a deep immersion in faith to get to a point where you can do it well, and do it with an "overall" smile.

Some folks do it better than others. And this is one reason I dislike 180 pal Kimberly Thompson.

Kimmie (who she is to me) is a special kind of person... she makes me question why I would ever stay glum. She has this thing about her that makes me ashamed to be down.

So, why do I dislike Kimmie? Too many reasons to count. Here are a few:

- When asked about her outlook on life, she answers with: "To sound incredibly cliche, life is what you make of it." I don't like people who can get profound points across so concisely.

- When you ask her how she finds a way to be positive, she comes back with: "By knowing that I serve a God who is faithful, and ultimately everything will work together for for my good." Since I sometimes struggle with this, you can see how she gets on my nerves.

- You get the same grounded answer when you ask her what biblical verses she uses to anchor herself: "'I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me' is always a good pick-me-up."

Even with all this, I was willing to give Kimmie a pass. The answer to my last question pretty much sealed the deal and put her squarely in the "Dislike" category:

- What do you think of Karen Byrne? "She is awesomeness and you know it!!!!" She really used 4 exclamation marks.

Whatever.

On a more lucid day, I could talk about how wonderful it is to communicate with someone with such an undisguised love for God. I'd say how cool it is to have an instant prayer partner, and how Kimmie is an inspirational friend that I hold dear.

But, that last answer bothers me, and so I simply won't say that stuff.

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One week with Malena

To all our friends and family,

Thank you... for all the flowers, thoughts, wishes and especially the diapers.

Malena has had a blessed first week.

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One nation...

I thought this was an interesting story...

On paper, it is easy to develop angst and all, but is it really that simple? It might seem odd, but I kinda see Depot's point in all this.

What is the ethical responsibility of Christ Followers in this type of scenario? While I am sympathetic, I feel like he should have removed the pin.

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Mowing Love Without The Strings

The other day, I decided to work harder at being the type of servant I teach folks to be. I decided to start small.

Let me preface this by saying that currently, my favorite thing in the world is not mowing grass. I love a nice, tight lawn, but the combination of weather and cheap lawn mower makes the whole process a downer for me. Every time I prepare to rev it up, tears of apprehension inevitably well up in my eyes.

Anyway, I found the perfect service opportunity. My neighbor needed a cut. I knew she was busy, she lived with her adult daughter, and was always nice. So I zeroed in.

When I found her driveway empty, I quickly mowed ours, and moved on to hers. As soon as I mowed the first line, my lawnmower conked out on me.

Uh-oh.

My mind raced. I knew how it would look. I would be viewed as the neighborhood bully... the guy who cut his grass, and went on to harass others about theirs. The HOA informant. It would look like I was sending a message: Cut Your Grass. OR ELSE.

My kids would be ostracized, my wife's car would be egged, and any shot I had of joining the school board would be permanently nixed.

I feverishly tried to restart the mower, lest my noble, genteel, holy intentions were misinterpreted.

The mower characteristically refused to start, but it gave me time think and analyze my own motives. Why was I doing this? I truly did not want to receive thanks, but who was I doing this for? Was showing love my true motive, or was I trying to make myself feel better about, well, myself?

Eventually, I got the mower to start. I finished the yard, swept up the spare grass on her sidewalk and driveway, and went in to rest. Yes, I did feel a great sense of completion.

Our neighbor didn't say anything about it. In truth, she works so hard it is possible she didn't even notice it. I am fine with that, and it actually makes me feel even better. I wondered if I could start an alternative lifestyle as a secret hero, helping people solve their lawn problems at night.

I could take this to a global level.

Oops... there goes the "me" again. The aspirations to be the famed Masked Mower will have to be put on hold; I have people to serve closer to home.

Image courtesy of DuffDudeX1 via Wiki Commons.

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Praise

Malena got here at 11.05 PM...

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Car lights and pride.

I am a fairly competent guy -- by my own estimation, at least -- and I hate failing at challenges.

My biggest strength, I believe, is resourcefulness. In other words, Google is my friend. Give me a laptop or smartphone and an internet connection, and I can do just about anything.

Till recently.

My wife's driver's side headlight went out. No sweat; super hubby was here. How hard could it be? Besides, I had the Holy Grail of consumer car repair: The Hanes Manual.

I went out and looked at it. The setup was a tad different than my car, but with my Hanes Manual, it had to be easy. Right?

Then came hurdle 1: my beacon of manly car repair, my sweet Hanes Book, was missing.

I looked high and low for it. Nowhere. Not good.

In truth, I wasn't too perturbed. I still had Google.

I searched high, and searched low. Finally, after hearing some genius wax authoritatively about entering the wheel well through the interior of the car, I was done. DONE!

"Don't worry... I'll just take it to Sam" my wife suggested, referring to our trusty mechanic.

Not on my watch. I have no problem with taking serious stuff to Sam. Granted, I have a low threshold, but in that moment, changing headlights was that self-imposed limit.

So, I grabbed my tool box, and stepped outside, daring any of our neighbors to ask me why my 18V Dewalt cordless drill looked so new, much less why I was using it on a car.

I toiled all afternoon. Soon is was dark. My wife came out and looked at me sympathetically, looking wondrously at the sweat on brow. She guessed (correctly) that the perspiration was caused by shame.

"I think we should take it to Sam," she said quietly.

I agreed.

I refused to shame myself by calling Sam. I had her do it. On Saturday morning, I drove her car to Sam.

I was apologetic to Sam. I knew this was a major job, and I didn't want his ego to take a beating. I knew how that felt. It wasn't his fault; it was the blasted American engineering. I had my blog idea list ready to go, and I was ready to wait out this job.

It took a while. About 180 seconds.

I hadn't even pulled my BlackBerry out, and he was done. With both bulbs. Two tabs, and bingo.

"Anything else?" Sam asked.

Whatever.

I got in the car, and drove around to kill time. Still, when I got home, my wife looked knowingly when I came in.

"That was fast," she said.

"Don't wanna talk about it. Ever." I stomped up the stairs.

Pride cometh before a fall. I comfort myself with the fact that no one, and I mean NOBODY, can change a tire faster than me.

Ha.

Sent via BlackBerry

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Thank you!

A few weekends back, my older girls had a tough going in our regular league play.

Ravaged by flu, we went into back-to-back games undermanned against two good teams. On Saturday, we drove 90 minutes to play in Asheville. One of my toughest players, Y, was so sick she could hardly stand. With only 11 other players, I knew it would be tough, and we dropped our first game of the season 3-1 after an understandably dismal second half.

Sunday looked to be bleaker. Y was done, so we had only 11 players. 11! Then, one of my players forgot her cleats. We were three hours away from home, no sports stores close by, and no one had extra cleats.

In youth sports, we talk about going to war, and kicking in the opponent's teeth and more. The news is filled with abominable stories of crazy youth parents, but when it comes down to it, we meet some of the best people around in youth sports.

I am taking my hat off to the players, parents and coaches of Carolina Mountains Soccer Club U-13 Blue G team. Coach Bill and his parents treated us with class. My player was provided a pair of cleats by the mother of one of the CMSC players. Bill inquired into the health of my players, and even offered to let us take breaks during the game to ensure my players did not get dehydrated.

The game ended in a goalless tie. It is memorable to me for many reasons; my ladies showed their grit, but I also have Bill to thank for that, because he did not cheapen the game by holding back. I believe both teams are the better for playing it, and it helped create the deep regard I have for CMSC.

Thank you for showing why we do what we do. It is an honor to have played those ladies of 96G Blue.

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Beauty amidst chaos (week 41=pink)

I am a tough guy.

Till I received this blog link from my dear friend Pam, and found teardrops accumulating in my eyelids.

Cancer is harsh, and even when defeated, the scars -- physical and emotional -- can be overwhelming. As a disease, breast cancer is only rivaled by the pain and despair it can leave in

its wake.

This month, take time to say I love you to ALL the women in your lives. It's perfect practice for the other eleven months.

And, God willing, we'll continue to make a dent.

BTW, if you aren't following Dana Snyder Suggs, you should. Now.

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Grateful to be busy.

It has been a busy Summer and Fall. Two teams to coach (and travel with), running the youth program at East, deciding to help run the YCI program at East Meck, finding the time to do FCA at the same school, and most importantly, a new baby at any time.

Oh Yeah. I. Am. On. Fire. God keeps the doors permanently open.

East has been a fountain of opportunity. Great people, and there is ALWAYS something to do. Our Youth Sunday was successful, and now we are looking to be used by God in other ways.

I also get to work with PJ on our web initiative. Very, very time consuming, but very, very rewarding. I take my hat off to all the REAL web architects out there. Creating a church website is no joke, and for all my assumed computer savvy, it has been a steep learning curve.

So, all in all, it has been one blessed time period.

Gotta run. I have a pregnant woman to attend to, and I want to live to tell y'all some more.

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Letting go...

As a soccer coach, I have learned quite a lot about being charge. Mostly, that "being in charge" is not a call to dictatorship. I have also learned that to be successful with kids, you must be successful with the motivating factor behind those kids.

Yes, I am talking of the "P-word" here: PARENTS!

When I was younger, it was easy to view parents as a necessary evil. You almost always had one that was a a braggart, another who knew the governor, and one whose knowledge of soccer consisted of the drunken periodic scream "Big kick, d*****!" Yet, in everything, those folks are the same people who have the most influence on your players. You learn to value them. Some of my best friends are parents of current and past parents.

Last weekend, I was thrust into the hot seat. My baby girl was playing a game. And I was on the sideline, for the first time in my life, as a parent.

When I watch soccer games, I automatically go into analytical mode. I look at formations, balance, weak side threats and relative speed of attack. It is the goalkeeper in me, honed by years of coaching. Within seconds, I can generally figure out leaks and advantages.

On Saturday, I couldn't do that. My eyes were on #7. My pride knew no bounds, even when she stood rooted to the ground for 5 minutes without going for the ball. This same move would have elicited a growl from me with my older players... but at that moment, to me, it was almost adorable.

The toughest thing was letting go. I had always shied away from pushing Mimi towards soccer. I never wanted to become the crazy father, forcing her to practice juggling till 1 AM daily. So seeing her pick it up and play herself was humbling, and it was weird seeing Coach Thad bringing her along.

I take my hat off, again, to all the guys and gals who coach youth soccer at the grassroots level. You know... the folks who have not been jaded by advanced coaching courses, and who probably never heard of the game till they found out their kids would not have a season if they did not step up. Thanks for all you do, for creating the individual masterpieces that we get later on in the journey.

Thanks to all the rec coaches, like Coach Thad, who work hard, a lot of times for free, and help ensure that I can switch from Coach Tre to the one title in the world cooler than that:

Daddy.

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