I love baseball.  Love it!  In fact, I am watching the Ken Burns Baseball series right now.

I have loved baseball since I was seven years old.  I love baseball, and my love includes a sentimental affection.  I even know one of the players I found in the very first pack of baseball cards I ever bought. 1

Scott, the Baseball Player

My parents, and especially my dad, supported my desire to play baseball.  I played a couple of positions, but I primarily played catcher.

 While driving through the mountains of Colorado more than once I felt afraid.  While there are times when fear is unwarranted, trying to drive along a road, without guardrails, with blind curves which with almost 180-degree turns, I felt the discomfort — my fear — was justified.

Some fears are justified, some not.  Sometimes we’re blinded by fear. 1

Blinded By Fear

Robert McGee has identified nine reactions — what I’m calling blind spots — people have when encumbered by a fear of failure.  Yesterday I identified the first four reactions, here are the other five:

As the NCAA Basketball Tournament continues I think back to the only basketball tournament I even played in.  For some reason the adult league in which I played allowed most if not all teams to play in the end of the year tournament.  Injuries, absences and poor play contributed to our team’s terrible record, but during the tournament all the pieces came together and we nearly won.

I love playing defense, and then, and now, I played with determination and success.
On the other hand, I dreaded every time I had an open shot.

When I was thirteen I was held underwater by a gym-class bullies.  As much as I struggled and fought to break free I couldn’t.  I wrote about my experience with the fear of drowning here. 

It’s been more than twenty-five years since that day, and yet, even in the beauty of Hawaii last week I was afraid of drowning.  Fear runs deep in many of us.  Maybe your not afraid of drowning in water, maybe your fear is drowning in:
– Debt
– Despair
– Disappointment
– Failure
– The Ocean of Bad Relationships
– The Sea of Doubt
– Your Fears About Your Uncertain Future

Broomball In A Blizzard

The snow fell relentlessly. By the end of the game the ice on the rink was covered by inches of snow.

My friend Matt Benson, pictured here, was playing goalie during this Spring storm. He lay in goal on a comfy layer of fresh snow.

He’s safe but more than once while playing broomball I’ve been bruised and bloodied, but on this particular day I felt nearly invincible.

Snow fell while we raced across the ice. The falling snow made falling on the ice a far safer venture than usual.

Breakaways & Broken Spirits

A beautiful February day filled with sunshine, laughter and friends.  It was a TreeHouse staff retreat and we had the morning and afternoon off.  A group of us headed to a local hockey rink for some broomball.

Since many players enjoying scoring goals more than stopping them I volunteered to play goalie for our team.  I also knew that most if not all the players were more athletic and better broomball players that I was. I also assumed that the differences in our abilities would be less evident with me in goal.

On more than one occasion someone has suggested that I am competitive. The truth is they’re right, but it’s much deeper than that “I am competitive.”

Broomball

I learned to play broomball courtesy of Bethel U’s VP Ralph Gustafson. In 1987 Ralph was the youth pastor of Bethel Baptist Church of Green Bay, WI. I was Ralph’s “Youth Ministry Associate” or some such title. I worked long hours, got paid for a few and loved my boss and the teens so much I volunteered the rest of the time.

Synched together with rope I approached the rock.

I called out “On Belay?” I received the reply “Belay On”. I responded “Climbing”. Followed by “Climb On.”

My friend David Villringer learned to rock climb.  David’s courage and determination were both admirable and seemingly unreachable.  Graciously and patiently Dave taught me to climb.

David climbed the Tetons.  I struggled at Devil’s Rock.

I lacked both David’s strength and his will.

I wanted to climb, and I wanted to succeed, but I wanted NOT to get hurt far more.

Discomfort & Disappointment

Last week I was on a TreeHouse staff retreat.  While we were there we were each invited to take a full uninterrupted hour to “tell our story.” Our autobiographic tale had no apparent form or content requirements.  Each person told it her or his way.

I loved listening to others talk about their childhood.  I admired their successes.  I commend their humility in sharing some of their lowest lows.  We laughed.  We cried.  We prayed.

Unfortunately, I had to leave the retreat early.  I didn’t get to hear two of colleagues stories [yet!].  And, I didn’t get to tell “my story.”  Our small group leader mentioned that I “have other means to tell my story.”

Science was usually my favorite class.   My junior high science teacher — Mr. Eck — enjoyed teaching, loved science and liked teenagers.  Which makes the following story so frustrating.

L.A.Z.Y.

While some teens face the challenges of A.D.D., A.D.H.D., O.C.D., or O.D.D, I did not.  I didn’t have any of those. I had L.A.Z.Y.  I was lazy and I was good at it.

One morning I began waking up as the sun peaked through my bedroom window.  As I began to stir a question began to form in my still groggy mind.  “What day is it?”