Some Lessons from the Coach

 Has it been 8 years since we stood at this altar and committed our lives to one another?

It seems like a long time and not a long time, all at the same moment. And when I think about the two little people in that picture, I think of how much has changed and how much I have learned in these 8 years.

I started calling you "Coach" almost 12 years ago...

And I think it was probably a pretty prophetic name to call you. Here are some of the lessons you have taught me, Coach, over the last 8 years...

1. Live within my means.

We spent the first five years of our marriage with one or both of us in school. We could have taken out loans and gone into debt but you would not have it. You worked three jobs and took classes, and in your spare time you went dumpster diving for coupons. You taught me that humility pays off financially, and that you would not put your family at risk by borrowing money for things that weren't even necessary.

2. I am not in control.

Remember this guy?

Oh yeah, and remember the time you guys went mountain biking and then you crashed and landed on your head, and then when I got home from work you were passed out in the living room and I called Robby in a panic and as he and Joanna drove us to the hospital, you mumbled something about the hole in the back of your head, and then when I put my hand up there to check, yep, you had a hole in your head, and I spent the rest of the ride with my hand on the back of your head because I was afraid your brain would fall out? Oh, and when we finally got home with your 12 staples in your head, we found a piece of the porcelain toilet lying in the floor where you had passed out in the shower and actually broken the toilet with your head?

Yeah, well, that time, among many other times, taught me that no matter how badly I want to be in control and keep everyone safe and live a predictable life, it's not going to happen. And that's a good thing, because really a controlled and safe and predictable life may just not be life at all.

3. It is possible to overcome my fears and conquer a mountain.

January 2009 - Boone, NC. You made me do the scariest thing I have ever done. We ran Grandfather Mountain together. There is so much more there than it sounds like, and only you understand. But in that sentence, there is a lot of fear and insecurity and reluctance to take any risk, anything that might end in failure for me. But you made me do it, and you ran beside me, and you encouraged me, and you were right. I did do it. And I learned that day that the risk is often worth the reward, and that the fear of failure is a terrible reason not to try.

(I love that some of our greatest moments have occurred on mountains...

Mt. Pinnacle - 1 month before Claire was born

 

Mt. Leconte

4. Buckle down and finish what you started.

The most grueling two years I can imagine for you took place between August 2009 and July 2011. PT school was so intense, in fact, that we reviewed anatomy flashcards during the early part of labor in the hospital when Claire was born. I have never seen anyone so committed and determined to give the very best that you had in PT school. I was so impressed as I watched you study and learn and practice and question and research. You taught me what it means to really be committed to something and to work at it as unto the Lord.

5. Love without condition.

One of the most vivid memories I have is when I wronged you one time and we were talking about it. I felt guilty and said, "Will you forgive me?" I was taken aback at how swift and confident you were when you looked straight at me and said emphatically, "I will always forgive you."

That's the gospel, Coach. You live it out in front of me and you teach it to me constantly. And yes, we struggle and we go through dark times. But I have that confidence, that what you said on the altar, you still mean today. And that is worth more than gold or money or jewels to me.

So here is to the first eight years, and to the 118 still to come.

(Right?)

I love you!

To My Babies' Daddy.

Well, Coach, five years have passed since that Father’s Day when I gave you a framed ultrasound picture of our then unborn first child, whom, incidentally, you had determined that we would name “Truck.” Truck Shugart. Wow. Well, “Truck” turned out to be a perfect baby girl that you refused to hold for at least 3 hours after her birth because you were afraid you would break her. But once you did get your hands on her, I saw a visible change come over you. 

Protector.

Provider.

Diaper-changer extraordinaire.

Daddy.

You became something new that night, and it was a good something. You now had two little eyes watching your every move, and you seemed to welcome it. I always knew you would be a good Daddy, but to see how confidently you took on your new role astounded me.

Since then we’ve added another precious girl and our third babe will be here in a five short months. And here is what our children see when they look at you…

They see a fixer. You fix people when they are hurt, you fix cars when they don’t work, you fix bikes and washing machines and whatever else is broken. They both believe that you can fix anything.

They see a teacher. You teach them how to keep their wiggly bottoms in their seat at supper time and how to skip and do agility drills in the hallway at church. You teach them how to hit a tennis ball and how to confess their sins. You teach them the difference between a flat head and a Phillips head screwdriver, and how to slide down the stairs on a mattress. You teach them concepts like gravity and forgiveness. You are always teaching.

They see a leader. I can’t tell you how many times I will suggest that we do something and one of the girls will say, “Did God tell Daddy that’s okay?” 

They see a Daddy. A Daddy is not just a father, you know. A Daddy comes with love and discipline in the same hand. A Daddy will laugh just as quickly as he will correct. A Daddy will set up a water slide in the backyard just to see his kids enjoy it, and cuddle with three in one recliner after bedtime for a good book.

See, Coach, when our girls look at you, they see a reflection – yes, broken and imperfect, but still growing into the likeness – of our heavenly Father.

You are their first picture of their Creator.

Their Protector.

Their Provider.

Their Fixer, Teacher, Leader.

Their Abba.

And I know you feel inadequate, and I know you get frustrated, and I know life is more complicated now. But, Coach, I would rather my children be your children than anyone else’s in the world.

Because you faithfully and consistently and humbly point them to their Heavenly Father. And that is a gift that is worth more than anything in the world.

Happy Father’s Day.

The Life Giver

There is a moment in time when everything changes. It starts with a thought, a possibility. Could it be true…? And then there is the anticipation, poorly masked by an I know it’s not true but I’ll just make sure…And then there is that minute of waiting, and then…it happens. The test is positive. And the gravity of what has happened….A soul has been created. A living being is being formed at this moment inside of me. The Creator’s hands are weaving and molding and knitting with infinite love and care. The Life Giver is at work.

Three times in my life now, I have experienced this moment. I wish so much that I could bottle up the feeling that comes every time I am made aware of the miracle. Each time, I have fallen on my face in worship, because there is nothing else I can do. What else is there to do, when you are that aware of the presence and power of God?

Yes, I wish I could bottle up that feeling. But I can’t, and it fades. The miracle is still there, but the daily grind is still there too, and it’s hard to keep them both in perspective. And so I found myself today, sitting on a little red plastic child’s chair in the kitchen, with my head leaning against a cabinet and my eyes closed. Three minutes of solitude, more than I have had all day, and I didn’t know what to do with it. So I just cried. What else is there to do, when you have lost sight of the presence and power of God?

Life Giver.

The magnitude of this comes rushing in like a river, if I will let it.

Life Giver.

Then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature. 

There it is, at the conception of life, a breath – a supernatural occurrence that takes cells and makes them human – a feat that no one, no matter how tall we build our towers of Babel, will ever be able to replicate.

Life Giver.

He said to me, "Prophesy over these bones and say to them, `O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.' "Thus says the Lord God to these bones, `Behold, I will cause breath to enter you that you may come to life… and you will know that I am the Lord.'"

And there it is again, the walking dead who are not even aware of their condition, now receiving the very breath that they were made to inhale. Bringing the dead to life. This is what He does.

Life Giver.

Tomorrow we will celebrate the resurrection of our Lord from the dead. The miracle is there – always there. But it is so easy to overlook. If we try…can we remember?

Can we remember the moment in time when we first realized the truth of what happened?

This is My body…this is My blood…do this in remembrance of Me. Then He took the cup and He drank it.

Life Giver.

Father, if there is any other way, let this cup pass from Me…yet not what I will but Your will be done.

Life Giver.

A garden…a battle…a cup of unimaginable wrath…the second Adam…The very Son of God, humble and unwavering, torn and beaten, thirsty and nailed to a cross, displayed and mocked, forgiving and giving life even in His dying hours…

And a dark tomb, sealed with finality and an immovable stone.

And a third day, and a sun dawning with hope, and soldiers on the ground and an angel sitting and laughing on an “immovable” stone, and women weeping in one moment with grief and in another with breathtaking hope because the tomb was empty and the Life Giver was alive…

And if we can remember how it feels to know that these things are true…to know that at the beginning and in the middle and at the end of our days, He is still giving life…to know in the moments in the kitchen when we lean our heads back and cry that He is still trampling sin and death and giving life to these weary and dry bones…to know that He is the bread of life and the living water and the fountain of life and yes, even the very breath of life…and if we can be that aware of His presence and His power…then let our response, this Easter and always, be to fall on our faces and worship.

Because what else is there to do in the face of the Life Giver?

On our Worst Days

Today was a worst day. It was not our only worst day, just one of them. And not every day is like this. We have wonderful days, full of grace and love and fun and laughter. But then creeps in one or several days full of rage and disobedience and crabbiness and chaos.

On our worst days, there are some things I want you to know.

On our worst days, I see you. I see you struggling and I know how that weight feels because I am there too. I see your emotions taking control and my own soul sighs in empathy. There is only one freedom from that, love, and you haven’t found it yet. But know that in my better moments I do look past the offenses to my authority and I see your sweet spirit in the middle of the pains of growing up and being human.

On our worst days, I am more than aware of my shortcomings. I know that if I had caught this earlier in the day we would probably not be this far gone by supper. I know that if I had not succumbed to laziness, if I had made the effort to address the problem or lavish extra attention on you when you needed it the most, things would probably have turned out a little bit differently. I see my impatience creeping in and the sore temptation to ignore delayed obedience or subtle deceptions. It’s not just you, honey. It’s me too.

On our worst days, I pray for you. You don’t notice it because the discipline is too loud in your ears but I am praying over you while you scream against the consequences of disobedience. I pray because it is all I know to do. God, be perfect in my weakness. God, pierce her heart with your relentless love. God, help her to see that Your way is the best way. God, help me to love her well.

On our worst days, I love you. That will never change. I do not love you because you are a good kid. I do not love you more because you obey me or less because you despise me. I love you because you are mine. That’s it. And that will never, ever change.