Bono, Me, and the Kids

About a year ago I was going to go to Seattle to see a U2 concert.

Let me tell you more: my youngest son, as a Father's Day gift, purchased tickets that he and I (and two of his siblings) might attend the U2 concert scheduled for June of 2010. I was excited to be included and excited to be with my kids for an event I knew they would love.

Then there was the emergency back surgery. Not mine, but Bono's. He was in the Netherlands and had to have emergency back surgery which resulted in the postponement of the Seattle concert (and several others).

Now it is a year later. I am just recovering from my own little medical emergency, and the concert is at hand. The four of us drive to Seattle (I am driven by my children!), find what we hope to be legitimate parking and we walk to the stadium, dining along the way (sometimes a hot dog has to pass as real food). Along with thousands of others we enter the stadium and are overwhelmed with the scale and crowd and the stage and the everything else. It is an event and a large event at that.

The warm-up band plays and we enjoy it ... mostly. Then, the road crew begins to rearrange the stage and at 9 p.m. the show begins. We see the band enter, we are on our feet clapping wildly and cheering. They begin to play and we all go nuts and cheer more and clap more and we never sit down.

I can't begin to describe the joy of the evening: joy at being with my kids, the joy of knowing that they were doing something for me that they knew I would like, the joy of them being there and seeing the band play and soaking up the performance that was flawless and awesome. But most of all it was my joy in seeing my kids so enraptured, so entranced, so absorbed in music that spoke to them, that moved them. It brought such a joy to me to be with them, to be part of this experience, to be a part of their lives.

And that is the best Father's Day gift ever!

The ER, God's Love and Sludge Suckers

I never planned on going to the ER last week; but then I suppose that is why they call it an emergency -- you don't really plan on it. Having had a routine procedure that decided to get complicated, I ended up in the ER and then stayed the night at the hospital. Having lost a fair amount of blood I realized that upon my release my normal slate of activities for that week was out of the question.

During this time the building where I live and am the manager, developed a lake in the parking lot because the storm drain became filled with sludge. Tending to be hyper-responsible, I was trying to figure out how to de-sludge the drain knowing that physically I could not (and should not) attempt the task.

That is where the goodness of God and the sludge-sucking truck converged! I was watching out my kitchen window and saw a truck pull up to a nearby drain, the operators got out, attached a bunch of hoses and they began cleaning out a drain on the sidewalk near ours. Eureka! There are people who get paid to suck sludge from drains!

This normally would not be a high point of my day, but when I realized that a.) I shouldn't be doing this and b.) God knew I would worry about it and c.) there are other people who have the equipment and skill to do these things, I immediately rejoiced and relaxed and thanked God for this small mercy.

Just to let you know: they agreed to look at my drain and in very short order had it cleaned out and explained to me how it worked and how to clear it in an emergency and that there really is no way to deal with a full drain other than to have them come now and then and clean it out. Yay for these guys! A small mercy but a great joy!

Who knew that God loved me that much?

Live Music; it's Really Alive!

So, having just come home from a concert, I was asking myself "Why do people go to concerts?" I mean, after all, we can buy the CD's or download the songs and listen to them on our computers or some other more sophisticated sound system.

But listening live, now that is fun! It is a really stupid thing to say, but the music is so alive! The artists have the chance to share their stories, they talk about the music, they play extended versions of the songs and we as an audience get to interact with the artist and interact with the music as they share it with us.

So, after the cost of the ticket, the wait in line, the obnoxious fan, the sticky floor and the sigh at the end of set that seemed too short because I could have stayed all night -- it is fun to listen to the CD but it is great fun to be at the concert and listen, taste, touch and smell the experience.

Red Stitching

Tonight as I watch the boys from the Triple A team take the field, I see easy, fluid movements: throwing, catching, hitting. The ease of the glove, the knowledge of what to do with the ball when it comes to them. The movement to back up another position, to play a hitter deep, to watch for the bunt. Movements so easy now because they have been practiced and executed thousands of times before, movements that now seem second nature to each man on the field.

Maybe it began with that first game of catch in the backyard. Maybe it began with the smell of the leather glove or the feel of the white cowhide ball, with that bright red stitching. But somewhere it began. The love of baseball.

Pitching and catching with dad became playing on a Little League team: uniforms, bats, cleats and snowcones after the game. Some boys enjoyed the days of Little League and left it at that, but those deeply in love with the game couldn't let it stop there.

The games once or twice a week became weekend tournaments played in cities far from home. The games became try-outs for the high school team, the practices, the games, the playoffs and maybe even the sweetness of a championship. There may have been interest from the big leagues even then -- but maybe it came later as they played college ball. Scouts in the stands, letters of interest from an organization. Where would it lead?

Now, tonight, as they take the field under the lights in this ballpark that is their current home, they do again the things that they know best. And maybe with tonight's game the door may open to that which they have been dreaming of since that first day of wearing the glove and throwing the ball -- the chance to show to everyone what they have learned so well and loved so much.

Touching the Past

The mother of a friend passed away and now the house has to be cleaned out. This is no ordinary project because the mother was a writer, poet and collector. Today the friend asked us to come and look through some of the remaining books to see if there were some things that we wanted for ourselves.

I found some books on writing and nice older copy of Roget's Thesaurus and I picked up some older paperback copies of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy as well as a nice copy of The Hobbit. I opened The Hobbit and noticed an old letter postmarked Oxford, England. I thought the envelope would make a great souvenir and almost just tucked it back into the book. Then, I realized that I should pull the letter out just in case it was something important.

I scanned the note and almost passed out! It was a note signed by J.R.R. Tolkien! The ecstasy and the agony! I knew I had to hand it over but I was soooooo reluctant .... I held onto it for a minute and then showed the rightful owner the treasure that she had. She thanked me for the note, kept it (and the copy of The Hobbit) and I left with my other books and trinkets.

I am still trying to understand why this little brush with history was so moving to me ... I guess because I really admire Tolkien's work and have a lot of respect for his gift as a writer. I was connected to him just for a minute ... it was sweet.