Watching the Texas Rangers give away, uh...lose the World Series was painful. Not as much for me directly as indirectly, having to watch the Dickman suffer through the loss.
Even though he claims to be a grown man, this is a guy who believes in the Rangers like a 4-year old believes in Santa Claus. Who takes responsibility for each win or loss based on the precise combination of clothing he wears (or does not wear) during each critical, earth-shattering game.
As the Cardinals hammered home the final nail in the Rangers' coffin, I expected nothing less than wailing and gnashing of teeth from my grown man. (Who, by the way, was decked out like an escapee from the Texas Rangers Asylum for Insane Athletic Supporters.)
Even though he claims to be a grown man, this is a guy who believes in the Rangers like a 4-year old believes in Santa Claus. Who takes responsibility for each win or loss based on the precise combination of clothing he wears (or does not wear) during each critical, earth-shattering game.
As the Cardinals hammered home the final nail in the Rangers' coffin, I expected nothing less than wailing and gnashing of teeth from my grown man. (Who, by the way, was decked out like an escapee from the Texas Rangers Asylum for Insane Athletic Supporters.)
Searching for something, anything that would ease the crushing weight of defeat on the fragile soul of the Dickman, I found the following post on Facebook (written by another equally rabid Rangers fan and friend):
“We need to remember, it’s the end of the World Series...not the end of the world.”
“We need to remember, it’s the end of the World Series...not the end of the world.”
The Dickman was neither placated nor convinced.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Saturday evening, Dickie and I were sitting in our respective chairs, our heads simultaneously nodding between our computers and the TV, when I suddenly experienced a gentle rocking motion lasting about ten seconds. As I was trying to come up with a plausible explanation for the extraneous movement (sugar rush from that praline? more menopausal hormone trickery? voices in my head throwing a party?) Dickie loudly blurted, “Look at that! The chandelier just started swinging!”.
Phew! I can’t even tell you how relieved I was to know that all the wackiness was not from within. We quickly resumed our ping-ponging between computers and TV to discover aftershocks from a 5.6 earthquake in Okla-freaking-homa had indeed caused the earth to move under our feet, ala Carole King.
Rangers losing the World Series to St. Louis? Oklahoma and Texas having earthquakes? Kim Kardashian getting a divorce? What in the wide, wide world of sports is happening, folks?
If these are not clear signs of the apocalypse, I don’t know what is.
Saturday evening, Dickie and I were sitting in our respective chairs, our heads simultaneously nodding between our computers and the TV, when I suddenly experienced a gentle rocking motion lasting about ten seconds. As I was trying to come up with a plausible explanation for the extraneous movement (sugar rush from that praline? more menopausal hormone trickery? voices in my head throwing a party?) Dickie loudly blurted, “Look at that! The chandelier just started swinging!”.
Phew! I can’t even tell you how relieved I was to know that all the wackiness was not from within. We quickly resumed our ping-ponging between computers and TV to discover aftershocks from a 5.6 earthquake in Okla-freaking-homa had indeed caused the earth to move under our feet, ala Carole King.
Rangers losing the World Series to St. Louis? Oklahoma and Texas having earthquakes? Kim Kardashian getting a divorce? What in the wide, wide world of sports is happening, folks?
If these are not clear signs of the apocalypse, I don’t know what is.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Yesterday I was chatting with my 3-year old Grandson before church began. I had my legs crossed and he was riding my foot like a horsey, random questions spilling out of his mouth faster than I could answer them…especially while giddy-upping. Suddenly his eyes popped wide and he said, “MiMi...do you know my Savior?”
As parts of me melted, whilst other parts of me were charmed, I replied, “I do know your savior, Mattman. He’s my Savior, too.”
“Really?!” He asked excitedly. “I didn’t know you knowed him. Why do you call him ‘MY’ Savior?”
“Because He’s my Savior, too. And G-Dad’s and everybody else's. We all share Him. You do know that 'Savior' is just another name for Jesus or the Lord...right?"
Mattman giggled a little and said, “Oh, MiMi, you’re so silly. Jesus is Jesus and da Lord is da Lord.” My friend is just Savior. His name is just Savior. He’s wearing a brown shirt, just like me. Hahahaha! No he’s not, I’m just kidding. It’s not brown...but it does has two buttons like mine.”
[Ahhh...an open door to a teachable moment. Of course I stepped right on in.]
“Well, your Savior could be wearing a shirt just like yours Mattman. He could be anywhere in this room. He could be that little boy over there, or the old man we saw walking with a backpack on the way to church. And do you know what's really cool? I even see Jesus in you. When we love each other, when we help each othet...we are being Jesus.”
“Oh.” He said with a politely dismissive little smile. “Can I go to class now?”
As I was walking him to his class, he suddenly jerked his hand free from mine and took off running towards a little boy waiting for him in the classroom.
“Hey Savior! Do you know my MiMi? She says she knows you!” my G-boy shouted as he ran to his little friend, who was indeed sporting a shirt with two buttons...just like Matthew’s.
He was also wearing a name tag with his name spelled out in big, bold letters: Xavier.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
As parts of me melted, whilst other parts of me were charmed, I replied, “I do know your savior, Mattman. He’s my Savior, too.”
“Really?!” He asked excitedly. “I didn’t know you knowed him. Why do you call him ‘MY’ Savior?”
“Because He’s my Savior, too. And G-Dad’s and everybody else's. We all share Him. You do know that 'Savior' is just another name for Jesus or the Lord...right?"
Mattman giggled a little and said, “Oh, MiMi, you’re so silly. Jesus is Jesus and da Lord is da Lord.” My friend is just Savior. His name is just Savior. He’s wearing a brown shirt, just like me. Hahahaha! No he’s not, I’m just kidding. It’s not brown...but it does has two buttons like mine.”
[Ahhh...an open door to a teachable moment. Of course I stepped right on in.]
“Well, your Savior could be wearing a shirt just like yours Mattman. He could be anywhere in this room. He could be that little boy over there, or the old man we saw walking with a backpack on the way to church. And do you know what's really cool? I even see Jesus in you. When we love each other, when we help each othet...we are being Jesus.”
“Oh.” He said with a politely dismissive little smile. “Can I go to class now?”
As I was walking him to his class, he suddenly jerked his hand free from mine and took off running towards a little boy waiting for him in the classroom.
“Hey Savior! Do you know my MiMi? She says she knows you!” my G-boy shouted as he ran to his little friend, who was indeed sporting a shirt with two buttons...just like Matthew’s.
He was also wearing a name tag with his name spelled out in big, bold letters: Xavier.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I’m not sure if my Savior and Xavier are one in the same.
I'm not even sure if God is still a Rangers fan.
What I am sure of is this: it’s not easy being Jesus in this crazy world of ours. A world that seems to be getting more off-balance and crazier by the minute.
And I’m more than a little humbled it took my favorite 3-year old to remind me that I should be much more concerned about walking right past Jesus without seeing Him today, than wondering whether or not He’s coming tomorrow.
I'm not even sure if God is still a Rangers fan.
What I am sure of is this: it’s not easy being Jesus in this crazy world of ours. A world that seems to be getting more off-balance and crazier by the minute.
And I’m more than a little humbled it took my favorite 3-year old to remind me that I should be much more concerned about walking right past Jesus without seeing Him today, than wondering whether or not He’s coming tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment