Birthdays are for Giving

The word gift is in many titles, including songs, movies and television shows.  I cannot help but think about this word as my mother’s ninetieth birthday is only four days away.

I am pretty certain we all enjoy receiving gifts.  What are your favorite gifts?  Is a gift not something wrapped in paper that you rip open and enjoy for a while before you get bored and shove it away on a shelf somewhere?

Maybe some gifts are like that.

Would it be cold-hearted and un-feeling to think of a person as a gift?

Concerning my mother, I have a multitude of memories (yes, my memory still functions) that I speak and write about, such as good meals, comfort in sorrow, thoughtful conversation, decorating on holidays, unmatched potato salad and sugar cookies, opening the house to neighbor kids (if they watched their language), sports knowledge.  These and countless others are gifts that are stored on my memory shelf, though, to be honest, most of them I just took for granted for much of my life.

Mom and I both remember a story.  I was probably about twelve years old, just arriving home from school.  I opened the front door of the house on Hummel Drive, and I saw her sitting on the couch.  I told her she looked very tired, and she proceeded to tell me all the work she had done that day.  I looked at her and said – yes, I really said this – “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”  I don’t remember her response, but none of you would blame her if she had thought about smacking me.

I now realize that the blessing of my mother is not what she does, but who she is.  She is a precious gift. 

To say my mother is gift is not making less of her, not at all.  It is, rather, giving to the Creator the proper appreciation that He deserves.  Why?  Because the term gift demands a Giver.  My mother did not fall from the sky, and she is not the result of a cosmic accident.  The God of the universe who created the first man from dust decreed that it be so.  He not only possessed in Himself the idea of a mother, He appointed my mother especially for me.   To consider that and try to unpack it and grasp just a glimpse of His greatness is indeed to begin to see His beauty, majesty, wisdom, and love.

As a young man, nearly forty years ago, I wrote a Christmas card and sent it out to friends and family members.  Its title is from the well-known Bible verse John 3:16.  The gifts that we give and receive in this life are wonderful and worthy of appreciation.  However, the gift described below is incomparable.  I offer it to you with joy and reverence, and with a hopeful heart.  It was my attempt – my gift, one might say – to communicate the blessing of this wonderful gift of God with the hope that those who read it would see beyond my imperfect communication and instead  would see the worthiness of the One about whom it speaks.  To this day my prayer is that all my loved ones would by faith receive this gift that only God can give.   To God alone be the glory.

“God So Loved…He Gave…”

God gave the first Christmas gift

He gave no less than Heaven’s best

He gave to mankind His only begotten Son, Jesus

He gave not out of necessity or obligation

He gave for one reason…Love

Nearly 2000 years ago, the Son of God stepped

Out of eternity and into the pages of history

Angles spoke of the coming miracle to Joseph and Mary

A shining star proclaimed His birth in Bethlehem

Shepherds worshipped Him and welcomed Him into the World

All the hosts of Heaven rejoiced and praised the Father,

They thanked him for his immeasurable love

This king was not born in a palace

He was not born into a royal family

Nor did He sit on an earthly throne

He did not seek to gain glory, power, and honor

Because He came to give, not to take

For a third of a century He walked this earth as a man

He brought salvation to hearts hungry for life

He forgave the sins of the ungodly

He healed the sick and raised the dead

He showed compassion for the lost and forsaken

And He healed the hearts of the broken-hearted

He gave His life and love to all who would receive it

He gave His life on a cross

He died and earthly death that we might have a heavenly life

He died to mend our spirits and reunite us with God

Yet He lives today and His love continues

Jesus, the eternal Christ

The man whose life began in a manger

And ended on a cross

He gave Himself to us in life

He gave Himself for us in death

All this because “God so Loved

Mom Was a Prodigal

I think I got your attention.

What do you mean, Mom was a Prodigal?

Okay, I get to define the terms.  You see, there is more than one definition for "prodigal".  The one we commonly think of is "wastefully or recklessly extravagant".  That's the description of the younger son in chapter 15 of St. Luke's Gospel.  He's the one who demands that his father give him his inheritance immediately, something he was supposed to get at his father's death.  Surprisingly, the father gives him what he wants and then, as Paul Harvey used to say, there is "the rest of the story".  What does this son do?  He spends all that he has in a wasteful and recklessly extravagant manner.  He fits that definition.

But I'm choosing -- I'm defining the terms, remember -- the other two definitions that you'll likely find in any dictionary.  One of them is "giving or yielding profusely, extravagant".  The third definition is "lavishly abundant, profuse".

Kinda changes things, doesn't it?  It doesn't take much to be a prodigal like the first definition.  To be wasteful and reckless doesn't take great skill.  So is it ever proper to call somebody a Prodigal and mean it as a compliment?  Yes.

So again I say, Mom was a Prodigal.   Mom was "lavish" with her love.  I won't try to guess the countless times she encouraged me, sympathized with me, hugged me, listened intently to the silly things I said.  I thought I was pretty smart, because my mom treated me that way.

Mom was "giving" with her words of wisdom.  When I said my legs hurt, she told me it was "growing pains".  When I was hungry an hour before dinnertime, I learned that I had "a nervous stomach".  When we watched an intense detective show on television,  amazingly, she could always figure out how it was going end.

She was profuse with her knowledge.  I know the term "Renaissance Man" is often used.  Well, if there is such a thing -- and there should be -- Mom was a "Renaissance Woman".  Mom seemed to know more than most people about politics, the arts, sports, ethics, style.  I was always amazed.  Well, until I got to the age where I thought I could compete with her.  But there was never a question or topic that arose that Mom did not have enough understanding to make an intelligent comment.

Okay, does the parable from Luke 15 describe a Prodigal in a positive light?  Indeed it does.  You see, the father in this story was a Prodigal.  When the younger son returned home, determined to become "a hired servant" in order to show his father how sorry he was, the father sees him from a distance.  In an undignified manner, he runs to meet his son, lavishly embracing and kissing him.  When the son reveals his plan to "pay Dad back", the father will have none of it.  He calls for his best robe, a ring for his son's finger, and a fatted calf for a celebration.  These are the actions of a Prodigal Father, receiving his lost son and celebrating as though the son had accomplished something worthy of honor.  The Father in the parable is a wonderful picture of the Father in heaven who lavishly pours out grace upon those who have rebelled and behaved like the younger son.

When I came into the world as a son to Mom and Dad, I had nothing to offer them.  Yet I was treated like royalty -- fed, clothed, changed, bathed – even given a "high chair"!  The wonderful thing about having parents who love you is realizing that they love you while expecting nothing in return.

Can I put into the words what it meant to have a Prodigal Mother?  I won't even make an attempt. Sometimes I think only two words are useful.  Thank You.  Mom, thank you for the abundance of love that you showered upon me.  Thank you for being a Prodigal Mother.

I must make one more change.  I said at the beginning, "Mom was a Prodigal".  The "Rest of the Story" for my life is this: she still is.  I continue to enjoy the wonderful blessing of having a mother who treats me with prodigal love simply because she wants to, not because of any great thing I have done for her.  I'm truly a blessed man.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Don

Ninety in Thirty-Nine

"Grandpa, how old are you?"

"I"m thirty-nine."

"But you said that last year.  And besides, Dad must be almost thirty-nine."

Apparently that's roughly part of a conversation I had with Grandpa Barbour when I was eight or nine years old.  Mom always told me I was good with numbers.  She told me yesterday that even my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Shoe, didn't doubt me when it had anything to do with numbers.

I don't remember her complaining about my fascination, or, really, obsession with numbers.  Of course, there were plenty of ways I'm sure I was annoying, such as not doing what I was told the first time, and not picking up my room, and showing my hot temper.  But she loved my preoccupation with numbers.  I liked it, too.  She would ask me what the temperature was going to be because she knew I would have already read it in the paper.  And if it was a sports question, forget it.  I knew exactly how many home runs Harmon Killebrew and Willie Mays had on any given day of the baseball season, and whether or not the Giants could still catch the Dodgers late in September.

So thanks for appreciating my obsession with numbers, Mom.  And just for the record, my baseball number was 24, my football number was 10, and you are now and always will be number 1.

Ninety in Forty

It's true.

My mom will be 90 in 40 days.  It is no secret, of course.  But it is a wonderful landmark.

So, I have challenged myself to countdown these forty days by writing each day until Mom's birthday.  And I'll try to use the countdown number in some way.  Today's number is 40.

Mom turned 40 on February 28, 1963. I was eleven years old (I turned twelve in May).  I was still at the age where I thought my mom was probably the smartest woman in the world, or at the very least, in the top ten.  Adolescence was just around the corner when I would discover that she actually knew nothing at all, and it would be a few years after that before she would regain her rightful place at the top.  But at age eleven, I trusted her instincts and wisdom.  If she said a politician or movie star or big-time athlete was a jerk, I didn't ask why.  I simply believed her.  If she said someone was to be trusted or admired, then I went along.

Now, I know it is not unusual to think one's mom is brilliant.  But I had evidence.  When I was sick with the "green goofus" (Mom's term for the intestinal flu) she knew I needed hot tea and cinnamon toast.  When I was hungry between meal times, I wasn't really hungry, I had a "nervous stomach." I would need to take a jacket to an evening baseball game because it would get cool, even if it was warm at the time.  Once again, she would be proven to be correct.  But her real genius revealed itself when we were watching a drama program on television.  When it would be reaching the climax and I would give her that look that said "I wonder what will happen," she could always correctly predict the ending.  Yes, no Mom could match my mom.

Now that you are convinced she's brilliant, you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out more on Day 39.  Meanwhile, this post was brought to you by the number 40.

Warmest regards to all on this Saturday night,

Don

My Mom Introduced Me to the Wisdom of Peanuts

I don't remember life with out Peanuts.

Charlie Brown was a perfect fit for me.

I think I remember Mom laughing out loud at his one.

Maybe getting to know Peanuts and the gang wasn't her greatest gift to me.

But, my goodness, it has lasted all these years.

I still save Peanuts cartoons, and every year a friend gives me a Peanuts calendar for Christmas.

Merry Christmas, Mom, and thanks for this gift.

I know it's not much, really.

At least when compared with the gift of yourself for all of my nearly 62 years.

Hugs and kisses,

Don

When Lions Were Kings V

A too-late Warning to Boise Braves: Beware of Underrated Cadys

1963         1968

                                 

I went to or played in every Boise-Borah game from 1958-1968.  The ’58 game, as I recently wrote, was memorable, but to me the 1963 game was epic.

Borah and Boise were playing for the SIC championship for the fourth time in the six-year rivalry.  For the first time since 1958, Boise was the favorite.  Nearly 15,000 people attended the game, which was also televised for the first time.  The Braves were 9-0, including a 25-0 win over defending Oregon state champion Medford, and the Lions were 8-1, having fumbled away a 26-14 loss to Missoula, Montana.

Dale Cady, Borah running back, was “in really top condition for the first time this season,” according to Coach Troxel.  He was the star of the game, scoring all three touchdowns in the game for the Lions.  Because of nagging injuries all year, Dale, arguably the fastest sprinter to ever wear the green and gold, was not expected him to shine like he did.  Those who thought that were wrong. 

                                   Borah 21-Boise 20.      
        

Flash forward to Boise-Borah 1968.  Don Minter was coming off a 200+ yard game against Klamath Falls and Craig Estell was among the rushing leaders in the conference.  Shoot, I had even had 100 yards rushing against Meridian.  You see, there was this other guy in the backfield.  Most of the time he was called on to be a blocker in order to make his comrades in the backfield look good.  But this guy wanted the ball a lot more than I ever gave it to him.  Whenever I think of Bill Cady I think of three words: “Gimme the ball.” 

In those days, quarterbacks got to call their own plays.  Unfortunately for Bill, who loved to run the ball, there were only 3 or 4 plays that were meant for the wing back, which was his position.  Yet in the third quarter when we were nursing a 10-7 lead, I made the right decision.  I handed the ball to Bill and he ran 46 yards for a touchdown, and we left the Braves in the dust.  It was the turning point of the game and, in my mind, the biggest play of the year. 

                                  Borah 33-Boise 7.

I can't turn back the clock.  Well, I guess I can in one sense since daylight savings time ends tonight.  But I can't go back in time and give Bill the ball more often, which would have been a smart thing to do.

Nevertheless, thanks for the big one against Boise.  You just couldn't keep the Cadys down when it mattered most.

When Lions Were Kings IV

  Borah vs. Klamath Falls, Homecoming 1968

Entering Borah and going to the first pep assembly was impressive in September – or was it late August? – of 1966..  I didn’t think anything could be as loud as the Borah gym was that day.  Measuring decibels at rock concerts was not spoken of in those days, at least that I can remember, but my ears were hurting.    I remember guys on the team just staring at each other, half smiling in amazement.

After that, it became the norm.  We weren’t in awe anymore.

In late summer of 1967, the Borah Lions, with a few of us fortunate juniors, traveled to Sandpoint for our opening game.  The score was 34 to 0 before the “Junior” offense was given a chance.  With just a couple of minutes to go in the game, we had the ball near mid-field.  Craig Estell ran for about 5 yards on first down.  On second down, Don Minter took the ball into the Sandpoint secondary, faked out a Bulldog defender (as we would have described it back then ‘the poor guy’s jock was hangin on the goalpost’) and ran for a touchdown.  We only played 2 plays, but we scored a touchdown.  When the game ended and we were running off the field, I felt like I could have jumped up on the goalpost and grabbed that guy's, well, I think you get the picture.  Only two plays and we had scored a touchdown in a varsity foot ball game for the Borah Lions.  It was a natural high.

The Borah machine, the “Green Wave” was a remarkable force in Idaho high school sports.  Yet, the tradition was strong and it was expected.  What was awesome and extraordinary became ordinary. 

But there was one player’s abilities that could inspire awe in me.  His number was 24, and he was the same guy who scored that touchdown against Sandpoint.  Don Minter.  The Borah teams for the three years we had together at Borah were impressive.  Twenty-nine wins in thirty outings.  Numerous players made all-city, all-conference and all-state.  Many went on to play in college and at least two had tryouts with the NFL.  But Don could do something that nobody else could.  He could suddenly change from whatever gear he was in to high speed.  There were a few times when what looked like a sure tackle by a defender turned out to be the poor guy just grabbing air.

Homecoming 1968 was Don’s greatest effort.  We played Klamath Falls, Oregon, a team ranked in the top 5 of in that state.  While most teams in Idaho would set their defenses to stop Minter, apparently K. Falls didn’t think it was necessary.  It was not a good idea.  Don scored three touchdowns and rushed for over 200 yards in that game.  There were Pelican feathers left scattered all over the field, the result of failing to chase him down.

The Idaho Statesman sports writers were impressed.  They named him player of the week.  Notice the coaches in the background

Lots of good memories.  I miss you, old friend.