A Lesson From My Brother

Today, I was thinking about my brother, Scott.  He’s had a rough few years trying to figure out what steps he needs to take in his life.  For a long time, his dream has been to become a professional golfer on the PGA Tour.  You see, he’s a natural athlete and has met great success in every sport he’s every played.  From dominating Little League hitters on the mound to scoring 1,000 points throughout his high school basketball career, Scott Levy has been known as an athlete.  But his golfing brought him even more success as he won tournament after tournament, championship after championship all over the tri-state area.  He had big plans to play in a top college program and then hit the pros.  Scott’s always seen himself as a champion.

Somewhere along the way, his road to success took a detour, and he’s struggled as a golfer for the last few years.  At this point, I have very little of an idea what he’s going to do in the near or far future, and I don’t think he knows a whole lot more.  But I admire Scott.  I admire him because, among all the adversity he’s had, he still believes that in the end, it’s going to turn out the way he’s always planned.

Because Scott Levy believes in himself, and that’s further than most people get to reaching their dreams.

It really is a rare case to see someone stick to it long enough to get even partially up the mountain that stands between us and our dreams.  And the few that do, well, those are the people we make movies about and write books on.  Those are the people that change the world.  Those are the people we begin our lives dreaming of becoming like, but end our lives being jealous of, because they had something we didn’t.

But the saddest part of this story, this story that keeps being told, is that what we didn’t have isn’t success.  It’s not riches.  It’s not fame.  It’s not a “big break.”  It’s a belief that we can accomplish what we set out to.  It’s a determination to become who we always wanted to be.  And if we don’t have that, perhaps we haven’t had people in our lives who affirm who we are.  And that’s probably because the people who should have been affirming us didn’t believe in themselves either.  It’s a vicious cycle of self-doubt.

So what would our world look like if we started believing in ourselves?  I’d like to stick around long enough to see that happen.

One Little Pronoun, One Big Calling

Matthew 5:1-2

“Now when he saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down.  His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them saying . . .”

These words serve as the preface to the Sermon on Mount, probably the most popular speech given by Jesus during his time on earth.  I think we miss a little (or, perhaps, quite large) detail most often when reading through Matthew.  After all, it seems like these couple of sentences are no more than an introduction to the red letters that follow.  Perhaps this is so, but I think there’s an important and nifty connection here.

The pronoun “them,” in this case, points back to “his disciples.”  Matthew isn’t talking about the crowd here.  “He began to teach the disciples.”  Now, I’m sure Jesus wasn’t ignoring the multitude that had come all this way just to hear him speak.  After all, “he went up on a mountainside” to give this sermon.

But the point is, his teaching was geared not to the huge gathering of folks, but to the smaller group he called his disciples.  He was talking to people who had left behind everything to follow him—people who were sold out and fully committed.

Now Jesus was surely aware of the crowd.  I’d bet he quite well that there was a sizable percentage of them who would hear what he was about to say and dismiss him as yet another looney with a messianic complex, sounding off on Jewish doctrine.  Yet, he still said what he had come to say, and the Sermon on the Mount is nothing to scoff at.  There are some harsh realizations here.  It includes a call to live counter-culture, some new definitions of sin that even the Pharisees weren’t requiring, and a commandment to be perfect, like God Himself.

This is the first public speech that we know of in Jesus’ ministry.  Matthew records it right after he emerges from fasting and fighting temptation in the wilderness.  Jesus calls a few disciples, and then sits them down to tell them what he’s all about.  This is a mission statement.  It’s an explanation of the life he’s asking them to live.

He spoke to those who were committed, whose loyalty wasn’t going to fade away any time soon.  And he didn’t water down his message for those who would be offended or disappointed.  He wasn’t concerned with being “seeker-sensitive.”  Jesus just spoke.  And guess what?  People followed.

Apolo Ohno and a New Quest

I love to watch the Olympics.  There is something about the whole world coming together to compete in the games that intrigues me.

I was watching short-track speed skating the other night, and NBC showed a bit on Apolo Anton Ohno, the United States poster boy for the Winter Games.  After winning a gold medal the 2006 Olympics in Torino, Ohno decided it was time to call it quits and spent his days enjoying the celebrity lifestyle that comes along with being an international icon.  He participated on the show "Dancing With The Stars," and he and his partner won the competition.  Shortly after, in an airport, a man recognized Ohno—as "that dancer" from the show.  A TV dancer is a far cry from the identity that a Olympian wants to have, and this propelled Ohno to return to speed skating one more time this year in Vancouver.  The montage of his training program that followed clearly demonstrated Ohno's unwavering dedication to reaching his fullest potential.  And he said something that I've been chewing on since then:

"Before you go to sleep each night, ask yourself this question:  'Did you do everything you could today to be at your very best?'"

I'm not exactly sure what I am, or what I want to be, recognized for.  But I have dreams that are presently unfulfilled.  I have goals that have thus far gone unaccomplished.  I'm not willing to let it stay that way.  Starting tonight, as my head hits the pillow, I will begin to ask myself Ohno's question.  It's going to be really, really difficult to honestly answer "yes" every night.  But I'm going to ask it.

Defining the Improbable

The name of my blog comes from a quote by Oscar Wilde:  “Man can believe the impossible, but can never believe the improbable.”

When I was young, my dream was to play first base for the Philadelphia Phillies.  There is a picture of 3-year-old me, dressed in a #10 Darren Daulton Phillies uniform, complete with stirrups.  When the time came, my dad took me outside with a glove and a ball to have a catch for the first time.  He stood no more than a few feet away from me and told me to throw him the ball.  I threw it...and it landed a good 90 degrees to the right of Dad's glove.  Through the dismal hitless streaks and incessant struggles to "keep my eye on the ball" during my Little League years, the dream was unwavering.  I would stand in my front yard with a bat, visualizing the time in the future when my Phils were facing off against the evil Yankees in Game 7 of the World Series and I would come to the plate in the bottom of the 9th with the bases loaded and my boys down by three.  In these fantasies, it is customary to work the count full before putting the ball in play, so I obliged, and after three balls, two strikes, and a couple of foul tips to the backstop, the pitch would come in, a fastball, and I'd swing away, hear the crack of the wood, and start running.  The ball sails further and further as the left fielder races to the track, to the wall, HE LEAPS...AND IT'S OUTTA HERE!!!

Despite improving sufficiently enough to become a decent high school player, I just wasn't blessed with the kind of natural ability it takes to play at the professional level.  My dream was impossible.  Deep down inside, I knew this, but my childlike faith never allowed me to question my reality.

I will admit to still having the same fantasies from time to time, but my dreams and goals have changed significantly since I finally came to grips with the impossibility of my Major League career.  My goals now are not impossible; in fact, they are extremely possible when combined with dedication, hard work, and unshakeable perseverance.  In truth, though, the idea of me possessing all those qualities long enough to achieve my dreams is improbable.  My life now does not reflect my goals.  It would take a considerable lifestyle change in order to truly become who I want to be. 

Isn't this the way it is with all of us?  There is so much ordinary in the Western world that we so often abandon our dreams and settle for the mundane.  As long as it is comfortable to be an American, few of us will make the daily sacrifice that it takes to step up to the plate and swing away.  Well, the idea of settling repulses me.  I don't want ordinary.  I may never do anything that makes me a celebrity, but we can all reach greatness in the areas God created us to.  I want extraordinary.  I want the improbable.