347/365

DPP13-

(A player in the making.)

These boys.
We were in the garage, practicing Christmas carols for Sunday worship, when we found out about the mini-soccer tournament. That is, the mini-soccer tournament that would be start at 3 this same afternoon.

One of the boys brings in formidable, but definitely used, trophy and gives us the task of shining it up. A few minutes later, Mario shows it to Tim.
"Do you think we can make it look nicer," he asks?
"No problem," Tim answers, "When do you need it?" (clearly thinking that it would be by the weekend...)
"An hour and a half," Mario replies.
We all laugh out loud.
The guys go to the kitchen and start washing the trophy.

At three, we walk over to the field, ready for a tournament. We see our neighborhood boys, from ages 8 to 18, gathered to play. We wait on the other team to arrive. About 20 minutes later, they pull up and pour out of a van. About 10 minutes later, the ref arrives, and shakes the hand of everyone gathered to watch. I think that might be good policy, for a ref to start off friendly with the crowd. About 10 minutes later, the boys line up and finally, about 40 minutes after we expected, the game begins.

Clearly, the other team has older players. Most of them have uniforms and even shin guards. And they probably have practiced on the big field more often than our team has- which would be rarely, if ever. Our guys play together frequently, but in the side-yard mini-field of our community center, always against each other. Half a dozen of our little spaces could fit on each side of today's field. Our youngest boys, yet too young to join the team, have no respect for the game going on the field. They use the same field for their own amusement, hustling off when the action gets too close or when the crowd chastises enough them to move away.

At half time, our guys are only down 0-1. The younger boys start running up and down the bleachers, having lost interest in the game.  During the brief break, two more of our older boys show, and things start to look up. But a few defensive lapses and just a plain good shot falling at just the right angle into the top of the goal leave the final score at 0-3. Our guys come off the field.

Supposedly that was when the next team would take the field. But the next team never shows. So after a few minutes, the same two teams take the field and do it all over again. This time, our team scores and we gringo fans holler loudly in support, much to the amusement of the other team's fans. Even with the goal, our team loses again.

But then, out come the trophies! (though not our polished up contribution...; what happened to that one, we're not really sure...) Our boys gather around and mug for the camera phones and everyone takes a turn holding on to the shiny Cup, on the field and all that way back down the street home. The rest of us laugh and shake our heads and smile at them smiling.

These boys! Oh how we love these boys.

322/365

The Plan for the Day changes multiple times (but who is keeping count?).
Meeting midday for robotics and lunch.
No meeting.
Soccer game at noon.
No, soccer game at one.
No, no soccer game.
Boys coming at 2 for robotics and snacks.
Boys show up at 2:30.
And hey! Guess what! Soccer game at 3!

Since we live within a 1 minute walk of the soccer field, off we go- up the hill and over the berm and to the fields that are very familiar. With the help of the sweat labor of short-term teams, we have spent the last few summers working to improve this complex of fields. And now we get to sit in the stands we helped build and watch the balls go through the goals we set up and painted, our guys playing a team from the other side of the neighborhood. That's a sweet thing.

We climb the stands and take our seats. And wait. Because 3 really means 3:30. Well, 3:30-ish. We watch the boys chalk the field, powder puffing from the coffee can on a stick. The half-line goes a bit wobbly at the very far end, but hey- this isn't quite the Copa Mundial. We watch the warm-ups, and size up the competition, all while we realize that the rest of the crowd may be assessing the two gringos towards the top of the bleachers. It is fun to know Spanish when people are discussing you. (grin!)

Finally our boys take the field. They are a rag-tag team, at best. Forget your images of organized American youth soccer. The field is dirt, with a patch of grass that probably survives because it is fertilized by local animals when they are staked to the goal to graze. One player's dog is on the field until the game actually starts and has to be shooed away. Our boys don't have uniforms today; they just wear their street clothes. A few have soccer jerseys from their favorite teams or teams they played with in the past. One of our boys plays in his jean shorts and plaid shirt. Our guys earn most of the penalties on the field today; they are street-wise and field tough. Our team didn't even bring water for halftime. We know that our boys can run and run, and they did. We know our boys have some good moves, because we see it in our side yard every week when they play the short game, off the walls, never more than 5 on 5. But this is a BIG field, and they are playing a team that has practiced together. Our team is down 0-1 at halftime, and then kind of lose it all at the very end of the game and lost 0-4.

But, I don't think that they are too affected by the score. We go home and get out the garrafón of water and a few plastic cups. The entire team stops to rehydrate in our courtyard before moving in mob on down the street. No doubt, we spill as much water as they drink, and create a mud puddle under the table. Most of the boys leave with a "Gracias!" and the handshake-handslap-fistbump greeting of the neighborhood and we are left with grins on our faces.

Here's to always changing plans for the day, and being in the 'hood, and soccer on a sunny Saturday afternoon.


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303/365

In truth and in short confession, I know that the rules state No Photography. I'm pretty sure that does not just mean No Flash Photography. But I'm awfully proud of this girl- today is her first day of practice with the team. And I don't have opportunity to stand in the doorway and sneak peeks at her flip-flop twisting and leaping very often. I want to document the moment. So I hold my phone stealthily, as if I'm tricking someone, as if I'm intently looking at the screen and not at my gymnast as she somersaults her way across the springy floor. I know, I know- the lighting is too bright and the subject is blurry and overall, the photo is lousy, and I don't get a second pass. Yet despite all that, for me, this photo I'll keep, a visible reminder of this point in time. This capture of a moment will remind me of the faithfulness of our God to answer prayer and to work out the details when we didn't know how, of just how quickly time passes, and of the girl I could once hold in two palms who now springs across the gym.

140/365

Really, who wouldn't want their ball to come back through the gator's mouth? How is it that playing under the lights and aquatic life is somehow that much more cool than the ordinary bowling alley? And bowling balls with fish and hunting dogs and alligator eye balls? It somehow makes up for a very sub-par game, salvaged only by a semi-miraculous tenth frame that pushed my score across the 100 point threshold. Playing with this alley-full is nothing but laughs.

125/365

Have you heard about the Nike sponsored effort to run a sub-2 hour marathon?
I'm a little bit obsessed in reading about it.

(Reading about it- yes. Running a race- no. I am not at all interested in running a marathon. Let's be honest- on this day I thought I'd take 2 mile jog through the 'hood. I quit at 1.35 miles. The guys training for the marathon, they would have been nearing mile 5 in about the same amount of time... Yes. I recognize the irony.)

But back to those guys- this goal is not just about  running. It's not a mid-morning trot around the 'hood. Arguably, this race to a sub-2 marathon may be more about science and equipment and nutrition and location and weather, and perhaps even money. Eliud Kichoge of Kenya finished the race on Saturday with a time of 2:00:25. One second faster per mile and he would have finished those 26.2 miles in 2 hours. So close. After it was all over, he said his effort was one hundred percent of what he had to give. In a video made for Nike before the race, Kipchoge said, "It's not about the legs. It's about the heart and the mind."

I'll get up tomorrow morning and remind myself of that.

59/365

Today.
After a week of coughing and sneezing, no more excuses. Back out today.

My husband still fast asleep, I slide out of bed and move as quietly as I can through the dark. I collect my wears. No light necessary. I know the feel of my shorts at the top of the drawer, the bright white of the shirt, the weight of the socks, the elastic of the headband. I walk into the closet and kneel down right where my shoes will be and feel for the tell-tale laces. One. Two. I dress from habit, without thinking. I pull my laces tight and tie my shoes without thought. I feel for my watch and strap it on and feel for my music and clip it on and feel for the little flashing light for my shoe and stick it around my heel. I go to the cooler with my water bottle, knowing when it is full by sound. I exit the house and enter the street. I wait for my watch to be ready and do that simultaneous music/time click. I am on my way, looking forward, sunrise to the east, birds calling, dogs barking, the world waking. I never once look down...

...until the jog through the 'hood is complete and I'm back on my street.
What?!
I laugh out loud.
Two different shoes!

35/365

It all started with an orange and white reversible mesh jersey, white shorts, and black cleats- the standard AYSO soccer jersey back in 1979. I saw a flyer for fall soccer posted at school, and convinced my parents that I wanted to play. I joined the neighborhood team. We practiced twice a week, down the hill at the neighborhood baseball field. The goathead prickers that stuck in the ball were the primary foe. I was an average player, but I loved the game. I played recreational soccer through college. In high school, I became a referee, and kept the ball moving in the waist-high herd of kindergarten player mob. In college, I started coaching. First elementary and middle school girls, and then over the years, boys and co-ed teams too.

So, it was a natural decision that our kids would play sports. First Ashley joined softball. She had a pretty powerful swing, sometimes dangerous when she would let go of the bat! And then, one by one, over the years, we rotated through t-ball, soccer, flag football, basketball, baseball, gymnastics, swimming, volleyball, tennis, golf, table tennis (don't call it ping pong!)... what am I forgetting? In various seasons, Tim and I were called on to coach and to ref, to serve as line judges and scorekeepers, snack mom and gym mom and uniform mom, schedulers...

It's tricky to have a household of kids playing sports. We figured out some ground rules pretty quick. Only one sport per kid at a time because inevitably one event conflicts with another and which team are you going to disappoint? We decided that only a couple of kids could play in any one season because we could only be physically in a couple of places at a time. The best family sport- swimming, no doubt. Every kid in the family caged in the pool while Tim and I sat outside on summer evenings, eating snacks and cheering. It was practically date night.

We learned a lot in youth sports, good and bad both. We had some great coaches over the years, men and women who gave their best to our kids and taught them well. We had some experiences that turned into learning opportunities, coaches and parents and refs and players who behaved poorly and gave us examples of "what not to do." Our kids were on teams that won championships and on teams that lost so many games we stopped keeping count. (don't be fooled, winning is definitely more fun!) We have had players who started every game and players who sat the bench for all but the last minute of every game. We even had a few rounds at All-Stars. We took roadtrips and stayed in lousy hotels ("I think this may be a meth kitchen...") and a few nice ones, too. We sat in sun and cold and freezing cold and wind and rain. We've had breaks and sprains and strains and limps and jams and aches and ice and heat. I can't even remember all the team names we've cheered for and all the goofy exhortations we've shouted out. "Show 'em what a 15 looks like!"

Now finally, we come to the end of our very last season. Our last players arrived at their last banquet, posed for their last team photo. It's just a tad bittersweet for all of us, but much more sweet than bitter. We have made good friends and good memories. I'm sure that we all agree that we'd do it all again. Thanks Team Holliday!
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26/365

It happened in a blink. One moment- I'm trotting along, about to check my watch, anticipating what's ahead. The next- I'm on the ground, gasping for breath, wondering what hurts. I got up quickly as air re-inflated my lungs, hoping no one saw that all-too-rapid and I'm sure not-at-all-graceful descent to the pavement. Let's be honest, it probably would have earned a dramatic OHHHH!!! from any unexpecting witnesses...  The damage to my body was minimal, scraped fingers and palms and elbows. My t-shirt bears  something akin to road rash from the asphalt, a trail of gray-black trailing rather mockingly through the logo of "Color Run." I spent a few minutes recalibrating and then finished in a jog, but the sting remains a bit even now. Lose our way, we get back up again echoes the soundtrack today.

334/366

In the very last play of the first half, our leading scorer fell down, the weak ankle injured again. The rest of the team needed another quarter to get their bearings. But in the fourth quarter, every single player left really played. Every girl hustled and scrambled and shot and little by little, closed the gap. In the end, they fell just short. But despite the loss, it was a victory for teamwork, I think. Isn't that how it is? We don't know how much we have within us until we are forced to use it?

I'm thankful for:
my friend at the Sam's Club door,
a cuppa and the best company,
dinner in the crockpot,
our visitor,
girls who play hard,
ankles that heal,
"But when the prophets of the Bible foretell the future, the future they foretell is Christ."

324/366

Some games are soft touches and easy lay-ups. Others are nothing falls through the hoop and everything in your body hurts. No matter, character proves itself through faithful steadiness in both.

I'm thankful for
but he is unchangeable,
sunny afternoons,
teens who play hard,
faithful coaches,
laughing at lunch,
the car-full I love so much.

301/366

"Get the fundamentals down and the level of everything you do will rise.”
- Michael Jordan

279/366

I started running about 3 years ago. In honesty, "running" probably isn't the correct word- really, it's more like a shuffle, faster than a walk but almost anyone will lap me eventually. I always loved the idea of running, but never suffered long with the reality. But a few years ago, a friend suggested a 5K and I thought "why not?" and as such, a runner was born.

I didn't run much this summer. I got off track (ha!) after our Epic Trip North and then spent a good many days in Mexico and can't really run there, and well, you know, it's Just Plain HOT here in the summer. But in August, I started up again, with my handy 10K app as my personal trainer, with renewed determination.

Earlier this week, a friend and I laughed over a meme that read, "If you see me collapse, pause my watch." I confess, I laughed a little bit nervously. Running accentuates the very worst of my OCD qualitites. When I run, I clip on my little shuffle for music. I strap on the watch that tells me how far and how slow fast I move. I make sure to pocket my phone for the 10K app and to count my steps and to make a call if I collapse. Finding one of those devices uncharged..., that could be a deal breaker.

When I go out in the morning to run, I first walk to the corner of my street. I tuck in my ear buds. I wait for my watch to find a signal. I fire up the app. Then I do a crazy series of taps and clicks, trying to get the music, the watch, the app started all in sync. I have a mental debate with myself- do I time the "walk" portion of the 10K app, because that will change my average speed...? What about when I have to stop for crawling traffic to cross the street at the school zone...? At the end of the run, I find it impossible to stop in the middle of a song, or at an odd increment of mileage or an odd amount of time. I make an extra loop around my cul-de-sac and wonder if the neighbors see me out the window and think, really? I fully realize how inconsequential and how irrational it all is. I am a 48 year old shuffler! This doesn't matter! And yet...

And yet, despite all that craziness, despite hobbling up the stairs after arriving home because I don't trust my left knee, despite melting to the floor of my room to just lie under the fan and breathe... I love running. I love that I CAN run. I love being out. I love when my most loved songs come on my already favorite playlist. I love the random dogs that follow me and seem to love running too. (I don't love the pit bull that scared the bejeebers out of me this morning, but thankfully, that's rare...) I love the world awakening at dawn. I love noticing the change in seasons and the glory of the sunrise.

'Cause I will run and not grow weary 'til I'm face to face sings one of my favorite running tunes.
I'm gonna run.

268/366

Football Saturday in South Texas-
Huskers on the radio,
corn growing in the fields.

261/366

"God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure." 
- attributed to Eric Liddell, but actually from the Chariots of Fire script

She's fast. And watching her run makes me smile in awe. But even better is watching her run as part of that group in the shadows. You have a fan club, girl, even if you never win another race ever again.

149/366

As if just a night at the diamond wasn't satisfying enough, few experiences amuse like a night at a minor league ballpark. It's all about entertainment. We went on Planet of the Ape Night, which meant the Bananamobile showed up. (Banana Gorilla fans, anyone?) And the grounds crew? Dressed in banana and gorilla suits, of course.

The mascots were terrific! Crash the River Rascal out danced Roxy, and moved his belly with style. And poor Franky the Swimming Pig- because naming a pig Franky (with the official number 8 OZ.) is the most unfortunate mascot name ever.

The Between-Inning-Entertainment? It was raining monkeys when they threw out blow-up mini-apes. There was the Appliance Race sponsored by the local gas company, when little kids in the oven, washing machine, and water heater boxes raced to the thermostat. There were the guys shooting arrows at the guy in the balloons suit, and the quote of the night, "Not THOSE balloons!!" (yes! NO! yikes!!) There were the young ladies from the bachlorette party in the Dizzy Bat Race. (so sorry that we laughed when you fell over. So sorry!) There were the Bumper Balls, the folks rolling around in the human gerbil balls. There were cute kids everywhere.

And the Special Appearances! For one night only- Tim "Wild Thang" Lepard and Team Ghost Riders- "three of the best sheep dog riding monkeys in the business!" Yes, monkeys riding border collies to herd the goats in the outfield, right around the guys warming up for the top of the 5th. You can't make this stuff up!

We sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" in the 7th inning stretch. We ate cotton candy and ice cream.  We had a Huge beer (that was what it was called. honest!) Our team won! The evening finally finished with fireworks, complete with grand finale.

Thanks West Michigan Whitecaps! We had a great night out!

53/366

Girls basketball playoffs in our 'hood. It was the Cardinal gym tonight, but my thoughts were all Eagle. We know something about state basketball championships, don't we...

38/366

Not so super picture of a really super crowd to hang with on a Super Bowl evening...

14/366

View from the scorekeepers table.

305/365

The challenge asks me to share a daily "thankful" for the month of November...

today: active, healthy, athletic girls playing on a not-too-hot, not-too-cool, fall afternoon against a beautiful lingering sunset.

302/365

Earlier in the day I was reminded to give thanks in all circumstances.
I confess, I lost that perspective right after the box of uniform jerseys without numbers arrived...