My Lesson From Vin Scully

I've never met Vin Scully, but he taught me a powerful lesson.

I read on a friend's post that Vin Scully announced his last LA Dodger game tonight. Somehow, though I'm obviously not a huge Dodger fan, that announcement made me sad. Sad, perhaps because its the end of an era. Sad perhaps because it's the end of a voice I've known all my life.

I grew up listening to Dodger baseball. In numerous car rides up and down the Grapevine visiting family in Los Angeles I'd "watch" Dodger games play out in my mind's eye listening to Vin bring the plays to life. Oh, to be honest, my dad tended to turn the game on as we all were getting sleepy and he needed to stay awake. Though I tended to fall asleep dreaming of baseball just a few innings into the game (thanks Dad), I learned how to follow baseball by listening to Vin's voice.

A few years ago I read a fascinating article on how Vin got his start. The article stated that back in 1949, when Vin was just getting started in his broadcasting career, before he even began working with the (at the time) Brooklyn Dodgers, his sports director gave him a piece of advice that would guarantee his success. His advice? Never listen to other announcers.

Never listen to other announcers.

I was moved when I read the advice. The sports director was telling Vin to fight to remain unique. Don't try to fit in or sound like the other guys - in fact, don't even listen to them in the off-chance they're techniques or style rubs off on you and you abandon the uniqueness of being you! 

This advice is so contrary to advice we are given today. I look at my own life and recognize the many times I try to live up to other people's expectations of me or be someone I am not. 

Why is it so difficult to be comfortable in our own skin?

How strikingly different would my life be today if I had a 'sports director' encouraging me to not pay attention to the players around me, just focus on being me. Focus on being the best- the only Connie Marie Morgan Nicholson I can be. The gravity of that statement is huge. If we could only grasp the uniqueness of each of our gifts, talents, callings we might catch a glimpse at how much our world is loosing when we try to be someone other than our own true self.

I know at the end of my life, God is not going to ask me, "How well did you live your life like (fill in the blank)?" He's not going to compare my life with someone else's life or even compare my reactions to other people's reactions. He knows I am unique - as are you. He put me on the earth at this time, as this person, in this family, with my giftings and skills on purpose. God knew 100% what he was doing and nothing about me is an accident.

People may disagree with me. People may think I'm crazy. But at the end of the day, God doesn't call me to explain myself or even to please people - He just wants me to be Connie, in all my messy uniqueness and beautiful flaws.

I want to live my life like Vin Scully. Not to broadcast baseball - obviously that would not turn out well! But I want to live my life in full surrender of who God has created me to be. Comfortable with my voice, my body, my thoughts and my experiences. Not putting on a facade to be someone I am not. But instead fully comfortable and confident to be me - Simply Connie.

Coolness of the Morning

I walked outside to feed Ranger (my dog) this morning and was greeted by cool air.

The plants in the garden that have survived the summer torment were resting in the cool of the morning. My four rabbits who withstood the extreme heat of summer were breathing more calm. The air outside gave a sigh of relief.

The seasonal change is beginning.

I echo the relief of my plants and rabbits - I also didn't know if I would make it through the summer heat. My life endured a full-scale assault at every angle: core family, extended family, my neighborhood, my health and my work. There were days when I would wake up before the cruel rays of the summer sun to find moments of silence before the demands of my situations bore down on me.

I found myself looking for Jesus. "Jesus," I would cry, "Where are you? I can't do this without you." With the demands closing in around me I felt like a hiker lost in a grove of sequoias. I could not see the sun. My path grew dark because the light could no longer penetrate the branches of the magnificent trees. My path had led me to this place, but I could not see where it continued.

In the darkness I cried.

I wasn't angry. I wasn't afraid. I just wanted Jesus.

"Jesus," I would cry out the next morning, "Where are you? I can't do this without you."

As my summer trudged on I recognized I cannot sit in this dark place. I must actively search, chop down trees if I have to, in order to get my focus back on Jesus.

My times of quiet became times of reading my Bible. Reminding myself who I was in Christ, reminding me of His Truths that I am never alone, He will not abandon me, He is working for my good. In my isolation, Jesus met me and pointed the way, showed me how to pull apart the trees to find the way to go. Though I felt alone- I knew I was never alone.

Day-by-day I struggled. Day-by-day I dragged myself out of my dark place and put myself on my Rock and worked at pushing the trees off my path. As huge and important as each tree was, nothing (AND I MEAN NOTHING) has the right to take my focus off my Savior. Every morning it was a battle to move the trees- again - and get my feet back on the right path.

As the cool greeted me this morning, I felt God's quiet still small voice say, "you made it."

In that quiet whisper I felt my shoulders relax, I took in a deep breath, and found shalom in the stillness of the cool morning.

The road before me is no less periling than before, but God's peace that transcends all my understanding is with me. My Savior, my friend is with me in my greatest hour of need and I am filled with thanksgiving.

Thank you, Jesus, for walking this dark road with me. Thank you for keeping me company even when I felt alone, teaching me how to move the trees that were crowding in on me and helping me find my way out of the forest.

When I came in from feeding my dog, I picked up The Message and read Psalm 23:

"God, my shepherd! I don't need a thing. You have bedded me down in lush meadows, you find me quiet pools to drink from. True to your word, you let me catch my breath and send me in the right direction. Even when the way goes through Death Valley, I'm not afraid when you walk at my side. Your trusty shepherd's crook makes me feels secure." Psalm 23 The Message

Whatever forest you may find yourself, call out to Jesus. He is by your side and waiting to give you strength, point your way and help you out.

May God's peace be with you as you experience the coolness of the new season approaching!
Connie

Brushed by Grief

Grief. 

Grief brushed past my heart this week and reminded me that life is precious and can change in an instant.

“Mom, you need to come here,” my son yelled to me on Monday as we’re hurriedly tried to pack up our trailer to head away on vacation.

“Is it really that important? I don’t have time.” I inquired back.

“Mom, you need to come here.” The tone in his voice was intense. I followed him outside where he showed me our neighbors little dog running around the green belt.

“Why is Tico out?” I thought out-loud.

“No. Look.” Micah pointed to a lump in the road.

My heart sunk. Our neighbor had collapsed.

My neighbor, Bob.

At my church we encourage people to love our neighbors. Learn their names, learn their dog’s names, learn their children’s names, watch for opportunities to serve and love them.

We have lived in our house for 8½ years. The neighbors on both sides of us are in their 80’s and my husband and I keep our eye on them and check in with them often just to be sure they are doing okay. I hadn’t realized how much I was loving my neighbors until tragedy struck.

My neighbor, Bob, walks his dog religiously three times a day. The entire block knows who he is and the name of his little doggie.

Life changes in an instant.

I sprinted across the driveway to Bob, yelling at my son along the way to bring me my cell phone. Bob had fallen off the sidewalk, onto the hot pavement onto his side. I picked Bob’s head off the pavement and held it in my hands while I did a quick assessment of the situation. I knew ambulances were expensive – I also knew Bob and Mary live without air conditioning to survive on their tight income. I didn’t want to make a premature 911 call.

“Bob,” I said, while I rubbed his arm and head, “this is Connie, your neighbor. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

I asked him some questions and knew immediately he didn’t just trip and fall. His speech was mumbled and his eyes were dilated. He was verbally responding to my questions, so he knew I was there, but I couldn’t understand his speech. Micah had arrived and called 911.

5 minutes.

While my son called 911, my daughter brought out a pillow to rest his head and my other daughter caught his dog. I stayed with Bob while my girls ran to inform his wife who has herself been ill for four months. In shock, she slowly walked outside, not understanding what was happening. The paramedics arrived within two minutes. I answered the paramedic’s questions and helped Mary interpret what they were saying and what was happening. 

"Are you his granddaughter?" I was asked multiple times. 

"No, I'm his neighbor." 

Just a few short minutes later he had been whisked away.

Caring for the Shocked.

I volunteered to stay with Bob, but when I looked at Mary, his wife - she was lost. I decided to stay with Mary. She almost couldn’t make it back inside - she was in shock. I helped her call her daughters, get dressed, find her shoes, grab a sweater. I got her ready just before her daughter arrived, she was hustled into the car and off to the hospital. The house was empty.

Just like that, in just a few short minutes, my sweet neighbor (I found out later that day) had had a blood clot go to his brain. The TV still played. The half-cup of juice still sat next to the TV tray at Bob’s chair. Time was frozen. I looked around knowing this house would never be the same.  

Bob survived long enough for his three daughters and grandchildren to say goodbye.

He passed away the next day.

Loving Our Neighbors.

My children and I have been at Shaver Lake trying to enjoy our vacation, but my thoughts are lost in my everyday interactions with my sweet neighbor that I will never see again. It’s strange how we get accustomed to routines and people – and nearly take them for granted! I had just waved at him when I had come home from work earlier that morning, just talked with him the night before – and now – in a moment his is gone.

I am glad to have been Bob’s neighbor and especially thankful that we were home and able to be Jesus’ hands to one of His precious children at the end of his life.

Feeling Like a Failure.

My biggest regret is that I never worked up the courage to have a faith-conversation with him. I asked God a few times about opening an opportunity for that conversation- but that never happened. I don't know why. Here is my 84-year-old neighbor, who better to have had that conversation with?! But I kept our chatting light, focused on children, grandchildren, traveling, jobs, activities – all good things- but not the most important thing. Being by someone’s side as they are transitioning out of this life, and not knowing where he/she stands with Christ Jesus, is horribly terrifying. We believe the lie that life will keep moving in the same direction indefinitely and that, perhaps, one day we'll have that conversation. 

If you remember nothing else in this blog, remember this: don't wait for another day to share your faith, or have a Jesus-conversation with people in your regular routine! Dallas Willard defines our neighbor as "anyone in whom we have regular contact." We do not know what tomorrow holds, lets love our neighbors today, by actions and by speech!

I’m still processing this whole event, so I don’t have any words of wisdom to bring into this situation. What I do know is that I loved my neighbor and am grieved at his passing. I will miss hearing his kind voice say my name and talk until the shade tree in the afternoon. I will always remember his head resting in my hands and the peace of God being present with us.

Hug your family and friends. Tell them you love them. And treasure life! Spread the light and life of the gospel around you, especially to the routine faces you see everyday, that you have grown accustomed to seeing. 

"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love, does not know God for God is love. This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world, that we might live through Him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sin. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another." 1 John 4:7-11

Just Another Day @ Seminary

Sometimes being female is just so tiring.

Why is it so difficult for some men in seminary or church leadership to have a simple conversation without bringing in gender-topics. I am not at seminary to "fight for women's equal rights," I am not at seminary to "represent half of our world's population." Believe it or not, I'm actually at seminary to learn!

In my Christian Thought class we're just beginning our final project: write a 13-page Theological Commentary on the topic the teacher chooses in a pre-assigned group. Not too bad so far, right?

Today we received our topic: Creation and Humanity. That's a topic with numerous Biblical texts- sounds easy enough.

Next comes the group assignment. (Here's the kicker!)
Our group consists of one man and three women (myself included). Here's how our introductions played out:

Man: "You're all MFT students, right?"

This lovely gentlemen assumes all women enrolled in seminary are in the Marriage and Family Therapy Program to be therapists. Classic.

2 Other Ladies: "Yes."

Me: "Um, sorry, no."

Man: "Oh, okay." Topic quickly dropped.

The self-proclaimed leader continued on...

Man: "So, I thought we'd start out by making sure we're all on the same page. I believe that women can teach, but they can't be elders or pastors. We all agree with that, right?"

You'd be horribly ill with how many times I've had this SAME scenario played out within the last two semesters of seminary. Ugg.

I kept my cool and politely informed the gentleman that we have differences in opinion.

I never cease to be amazed at the narrow-mindedness of some people. I am so tired of fighting for myself, proving that I have every right to be attending this seminary. I could fill my blog with multiple pathetic interactions, but all it does is make me sad and frustrated at the box we put women into.

I am hoping and praying God gives me grace for this uneducated person. I would not want to be a female in his congregation.

Okay, my rant is over...oh the joys of being a woman in seminary!!!

Btw, this is not a male-bash- I have met some great men too; the onslaught of annoying ones is just tiring sometimes. Not all men are belittling. There's hope!

Sacred Space

Spaces move me.

I have never before been able to articulate my connection to places until recently. During one of my seminary classes, the professor made the comment that some people have a connection to places. He called it, "Sacred Space." He gave a few personal examples from his life which forced my mind to begin thinking back to times I have had similar "sacred space" experiences.

Tonight, while reading Eugene Peterson's book, The Pastor, he was retelling the story of building his church. Our church, Loma Vista Community Church, is in this process of building so I felt myself being naturally intrigued as he explained some of their conversations, plans and activities surrounding the building of his church. 

The further I read, however, the greater anxiety I felt. 

So I paused and put the book down.

"God, why is this causing me anxiety?" I quietly prayed.

Like a waterfall of memory came a torrent of images, feelings, emotions.

In 1982, our church in Louisville, Kentucky was set on fire by an arson. I remember my dad getting the call that our church was on fire. Factoring the windchill, the temperature was -70, so cold the water from the firetrucks simply froze. Helplessly, our church sanctuary burnt to the ground.

I was only six, but the power of memory still has it's hold. Why did it affect me so much and why does it still have a grip over me today?

Sacred Space.

For me, coming to church is about meeting God in worship. My sanctuary at St. Matthew's Baptist Church in Louisville, Kentucky had beautiful, tall and narrow stained-glass windows stretching high- forcing your sight upwards to the heavens. The colors of the glass and the shapes and warmth of the sun streaming through the windows during a worship service was dazzling. I feel like the sanctuary must have faced north, because I can almost feel the sun on the right side of my face. I remember the wooden pews and maroon hymnals all looking forward to the raised stage where we'd focus our attention in worship. This was my sacred space. This was where I would meet God. 

After contemplating on this loss, I text my mom to ask her some questions about my memory of that day compared to the reality of that day. Except for the date - I was spot-on in my memory.

My parents still have a small frame with pieces of articles from our sanctuary. The frame has always made me sad. Interestingly, when I asked my mom about the frame tonight, she said the frame "is a promise of restoration." I guess that message didn't get down to the Children's Department. My parents hung the frame on the wall as a memory of restoration, but I only saw loss.

Restoration.

I gave myself time tonight to grieve the loss of my beautiful, sacred space lost 34-years-ago. Though the fire is forgotten for most, it has shaped me. I recognize I am in process and I pray God continues to guide me to books like this which give me hope and vision for architecture and design that points people to God and creates a sense of worship and wonder - the same worship I found as a child years ago. I cannot create space with my heart guarded, afraid to commit to a space. I must allow myself to work through this process, perhaps find some healing along the way, as I am part of a team creating a special space to house the presence of the Most High God. After all, His presence is what remains- even when everything turns to ash.

Blessed be the Name of the Lord.