The One and Only Exxon...

The One and Only Exxon 

and other encounters that herald the Healing Power of a Hug

Gearing Up For Good Times

So. Stinking. Ready...

Originally written and posted to Facebook on October 29, 2011


                 After what can only be described as an exhausting, roller coaster of emotions, going-down- in- history- as- one- of- the- best World Series, the Rangers, MY Rangers, are not the World Champions.  After the 27th Ranger out and coinciding eruption of chants and cheers from the St. Louis fans, I turned off the TV, walked to my closet where I traded my Baylor Alumni sweatshirt for my Claw and Antlers Tee, I walked to the side of my bed, and I sat in silent protest to Tom Hanks’ character in “A League of Their Own,” and I cried – over baseball.
                Now don’t get me wrong, I’m passionate, and I’m a competitor, and I really, REALLY love to win and equally really, REALLY hate to lose, (I know of about ten of you who just read this and laughed, knowing that this is likely a bit of an understatement), but I didn’t cry because my boys didn’t come out victorious; I cried because the season was over.
                You see, for me, baseball is more than “just a game,” it’s a part of who I am.  I’m a Christian, a wife and a mother, a daughter, a sister, and a friend.  I’m extremely patriotic, I’m dedicated to my work, and I have a 28 year long love affair with 40 men who captivate complete control of my late springs and entire summers.

                As a little girl I grew up knowing that summer meant three things: no school, tons
of trips to the public swimming pool, and Texas Rangers baseball.  I can’t tell you how many games I watched and how my schedule revolved around tuning in to the game I was born to love.

                I’m a fourth generation Rangers fan, and in a way, the team out of Arlington has been
more like an extended family than a Major League ball club.  I’ve loved them, rain or shine, win or lose,
for as long as I can remember; their victories have been my triumphs- their losses have been my defeats.

                Some of my most potent memories of childhood include seeing my parents walk through the door of my aunt and uncle’s home chanting, “Ruben, Ruben. Ruben,” after returning home from a game where the Rookie right fielder had hit a walk-off home run; I remember sitting in the cheap seats of Arlington Stadium eating chocolate ice cream from a miniature plastic blue helmet; I remember a wooden plaque featuring a picture of the last pitch of Nolan Ryan’s final no-hitter that sat on the hutch in our dining room as though we, ourselves, had thrown that final ball (their victories have been my triumphs, remember?).

               Most of all, though, I remember my Granddaddy and his love/hate relationship with the Rangers.  Billy George loved them when they were “on,” but was quick to give his opinion when things weren’t going well- which history confirms was more often than not.  He had suggestions on how they should manage, who they should pitch, and, most importantly, what they should wear (Granddaddy swore by the red jerseys).  But through it all, he loved his team.  In fact, the last thing he said to my aunt before he died was, “Turn the Rangers on for me, Deb.” His passion was contagious- if not hereditary- and is something he passed down through my father to my brother and me.

              Now as an adult, baseball and the Rangers continue to serve an important role in my
life.  You see, almost every day in the summer (and if we’re truly lucky, a part of the fall), life slows down and everything that normally matters so much suddenly seems so insignificant.  When I’m watching the Rangers, I’m a 10-year-old kid again.  I forget that I have bills to pay and groceries to buy. I forget about dishes and laundry.  I forget about devastating news and lose track of disappointments.  I’m not overwhelmed by obligation or weighed down by worries.  When I’m watching the Rangers, I feel a lot less grown-up, and a lot more carefree.

             Simplicity-thus is the beauty of baseball.  There’s just a bat and a ball, a diamond of dirt, and 40 men who carry the dreams of boys and girls from every corner of the country and every walk of life. This, my friends, is why I love the game.

             Some will argue that America’s pastime is “too slow” or “too boring.”  But the lulls, the downtime, are exactly the things that lend themselves to allowing the viewer, us fans, to know the players as family and friends.  We hear commentary on what the players do in the offseason, things they do and say in the clubhouse, and whose wife is pregnant and when she is due.  In this respect, baseball isn’t boring at all – it’s a deeply intimate, personal sport in which some of us spend at least 162 afternoons and evenings with the friends we so desperately miss every winter.

             And the Rangers, for me, top it all off by being such a fun, laid-back, dedicated, classy group of guys, who are intense in their preparation and execution, but never forget to enjoy the ride along the way.  What a life-lesson that is, huh?
             Now that I’m a mom with two beautiful blue-eyed boys of my own, I feel a sense of pride as I pass down the family tradition of following the Rangers- how lucky they are to have moved to Texas in the year that we finally broke the barrier and made it to the playoffs, conquered the opponent in the ALDS, won the AL pennant, and made our way to our first ever World Series.  And then, to see our team silence those who thought we were a “fluke” by making it back to the Fall Classic for the second year in a row… priceless.

             I could share dozens upon dozens of memories that we as a family have had in the past two seasons, but I’ll simply end by saying this - Thank you.
        
            Thank you to the Rangers who have proven to be such faithful friends.  Thank you to the team who has brought so much joy my three-year-old, who is perhaps the biggest fan of all.  Thank you for two seasons that have been nothing short of magical, and thank you most of all for knowing how much I have loved you and for finally loving me back.

                I’m already looking forward to the 2012 season…  Until then, Go Rangers!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1SxJKnqR4s

           

             

Then It Did...

 Happy Valentine's, Babe!  Love you!

Our life in lyrics, with some help from Brad Paisley...

"It Did" Brad Paisley
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWcziRn94_0

 (Jeff surprised me with a private dinner on the beach in Jamaica)

A single red rose and a table for two
A nice chardonnay and an ocean view






Ships comin' in and stars comin' out
We sat and we talked till the place closed down
Then we took a long walk down on the beach
Her in that white dress and her bare feet











We stopped and we watched the lighthouse light
I pulled her close and I held on tight














And I said to myself
It doesn't get better than this
No it doesn't get better than this
And it did
It did

Fast forward to that next spring
We were lookin' for a preacher
Pickin' out rings
Family comin' in and friends comin' out
To that little white church on the outskirts of town
Me in that tux fightin' butterflies
Tears of joy in the momma's eyes
Her daddy walkin' her down the aisle
He lifted that veil and I saw that smile
And I said
To myself
It doesn't get better than this

No it doesn't get better than this

But it did
It did
Oh it did

Just when I start thinkin' its as good as it can get
This crazy life does somethin' just to let me know
I haven't seen anything yet

Nine months later nearly to the day
There we were flyin' down the interstate
Car weavin' in and car weavin' out
Through traffic runnin' every red light in town
Delivery room and the doctor comes in
I'm right beside and shes squeezin my hand
One more push and a baby cries
Sweet little angel with his momma's eyes

And I said
To myself
It doesn't get better than this
No it doesn't get better than this

But it did
It did
Oh it did
Yes it did

Embracing the "I Will Nevers"

“Hi.  My name is Amanda, and I (dramatic pause)… drive a minivan.” I try to swallow despite the lump in my throat as a collective gasp comes from the crowd. 

Standing behind a podium, shaky knees and sweaty palms, I look at the panel sitting in the front row.  I had hoped that they wouldn’t judge me – that at the very least they’d give me a chance to explain.

I look at the green-eyed, tan-faced little girl with the sandy blonde hair sitting “criss-cross apple sauce” (Indian style for those of you not in the “know”) on the cushioned chair furthest to the left.  “Me-Age 5” seems impervious to this shocking turn of events, but is somewhat curious by the reaction of those around her.  To her left, is “Me-Age 12” who looks disgusted – she can’t imagine the possibility of driving anything other than a sports car.  Everything about her body language screams “Ugh…gross!”  “Me-Age 16” laughs at first, then says, “Wait… you’re serious?”  And, as I would suspect, a simple eye roll comes from “Me-Age 18.”  She’s a firecracker, that one. 

I’m most afraid to look at “Me-Age 22.”  I know what she’s thinking, and as soon as I make eye contact, I know that I’m right.  Though I’d almost expected to see her jaw on the floor, I find that it’s actually quite the opposite.  Her jaw is clenched, her hands are white-knuckling the sides of the chair, and a single tear runs down her cheek.  She’s doing everything she can to keep from losing it.  She doesn’t have to speak; I know that I’ve let her down.  To that ambitious young woman, fresh off of a White House internship, to drive a minivan means to give up on so many dreams, so many goals.  To her, a minivan inevitably means that she’s married, with probably at least two kids, and is definitely NOT fulfilling any of her career aspirations. 

I quickly look away and find “Me-Age 27.”  She’s unlike the others.  Though I know she’s not necessarily excited at the prospect of a minivan, she’s accepting of the fact that it’s inevitable.  She smiles at me, nods, and looks down at her ever-growing tummy.  She knows that as much as she loves her Ford Edge, it’s simply not big enough for three car seats – my heart breaks looking at this one.  I know that she’s going to drag her heels and shoot for an SUV with a third row seat; I know that she’s going to come to the conclusion that a minivan is the only thing that makes sense for a mom with three kids under the age of three;  I also that in just a few months, she’s going  to sit on the edge of her bed in the middle of the night, shoulders shaking as she sobs, bargaining, begging God for a minivan.  More to come on that in a blog for a later date…

Driving a minivan is one of the many…many… things I swore I’d never do. 

Despite A LOT of persuading from my college friends, I swore I’d never join Facebook - I held off longer than most and didn’t join until 2009.  I vowed that I would never in a gazillion years “Tweet.”  I also said I would never get married and I’d never have kids. 

What I didn’t know at previous ages of my life is that, now, a minivan means that I have a job.  A job where I have a free vehicle, free gas, and amazing flexibility to come and go for doctor’s appointments, taking care of sick kiddos, etc.  I’ve been able to connect with old friends through Facebook and get a daily chuckle from Twitter.  I don’t know what my life would be without my boys – all three of them – Jeff, Jake, and Eli.

See, the aforementioned “I Will Nevers” are now among my favorite hobbies and greatest blessings.  If I would have been the stubborn, stick-to my guns kind of girl that I normally am, I would have missed out on some of the greatest things in my life.

I want to remain open to the things I thought could never happen, because I know now at the wise, old age of 29 that life has an unbelievable way of taking you off guard.  The greatest and most amazingly fulfilling things are the things we can’t anticipate, can’t fight, can’t deny. 

If I’ve learned anything over the past few years, it’s that in order to grow, we have to expect the unexpected.  In Wrigley, we hear all the time that we have to control our controllables.  In order to do that, we have to experience a certain degree of openness to embrace the things over which we have no power – whether it’s the car we do or do not drive, the job we have, or falling in love… if we say no to the “I Will Nevers” we may just miss out something truly wonderful.

Open mind.  Open heart.  No regrets.

The Bigger They Are...

Think about the last mistake you made.  Remember the guilt you felt in knowing that you not only let yourself down, but potentially hurt your family and friends as well.  Now imagine going to bed with the understanding that over the next few hours, days, weeks, and maybe even months, your mistake will become public – thousands of people will post their “expert” analysis of your situation on Twitter and Facebook, people will perform Google searches with your name, in hopes of catching a glimpse of a picture or video of your temporary lapse in judgment, and news tickers will stream with details, both factual and assumed, of your transgression.   You didn’t murder, you didn’t lie, cheat, or steal… all you did was have a drink.  This is the reality for 2010 AL MVP, Christian, role model, and my favorite Texas Ranger, Josh Hamilton.

Anyone who follows sports, or at the very least has picked up a paper or turned on a television over the past two days knows that Hamilton, a recovering alcoholic and former drug-user, relapsed on Monday night when he had a few drinks at a restaurant and, later, at a local Dallas bar. 

I was in the kitchen making dinner on Thursday night when Jeff told me the news.  At the time, there were no details, just a headline on ESPN.com saying that Josh Hamilton had relapsed.   My heart sank.  My thoughts didn’t turn to what this means for his contract or his future with the Rangers, my mind immediately thought about how difficult this must be for him – knowing that he messed up, knowing that he has negatively impacted his wife, Katie, their children, and all of those who care about him most, and knowing that some very misguided people will unjustly question the validity of his Christianity.

I hurt for him.  And though I am a huge fan of Josh Hamilton the baseball player, I am a much bigger fan of Josh Hamilton, the man.

Within a few weeks of us moving to Texas in the spring of 2010, Jeff and I went to a Rangers game and I optimistically waited by the Rangers dugout, hoping to have the opportunity to get an autograph from the 6’4 outfielder.  Sure enough, after waiting in the Texas heat (made even hotter by the fact that I was 7 months pregnant), Hamilton walked over and started signing hats, bats, and anything else put in front of him.  In an effort to sign as many items as he could, Josh never looked up; he simply raised his arm, open-handed, and took whatever was placed in his palm.  When it was my turn, I placed a miniature Rangers bat in his hand.  I gushed, feeling more like a 5-year-old boy than a 27-year-old mother of one with one on the way, and told him that I had read his book and was sincerely inspired by his story.  With Sharpie in one hand and the bat in the other, he paused.  He looked up for the first time, smiled, gave a nod, and proceeded to sign the bat I had purchased as a souvenir for Jake.  I thanked him and as I walked away I looked down to see that he had not only signed his name, he had also written “Psalm 62: 5, 6, 7.” These verses read as follows: 

  

⁵ Yes, my soul, find rest in God;
   my hope comes from Him.
⁶ Truly He is my rock and my salvation;
   He is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
⁷ My salvation and my honor depend on God, He is my mighty rock, my refuge.

 Had I not already been a huge fan, that alone would have won me over;  instead, the gesture confirmed my unwavering love for #32. 

More recently, just three weeks ago, Jake and I had the opportunity to participate in a question and answer session with Hamilton at the annual Texas Rangers Fan Fest.  I prefaced Jake’s question by thanking Josh for being such a great role model and explained that he is one of the few professional athletes who I want my little boys looking up to.  I also went on to say that Jake doesn’t always want to finish his dinner, but I warn that if he wants to grow up to be big and strong like Josh Hamilton, he has to eat everything on his plate.  Then, I handed the mic over to my son who asked the hard-hitting question, “Josh Hamilton, what is your favorite food?”  The 240-pound beast of man, dressed in black and wearing a large cross necklace almost fell off of his stool in laughter.  Once he gained his composure, Josh was able to think on his feet and help persuade my picky eater to choose healthy eating habits.  He mentioned green beans, salad, pork chops, and several other mommy-approved options and finished off his long list by saying that he drinks a lot of milk. 

So often we all look at Hamilton as an athlete with superstar status, a baseball god of sorts.  He’s a player that his peers and analysts alike have said comes along once in a generation… if that; a man with God-given talent who works hard on the field, but doesn’t have to.  The guy is just a natural.  In that moment at Fan Fest, though, he wasn’t an MVP, he was an average man, a father– a hero, not for making a seemingly impossible diving catch or hitting four home runs and having 7 RBIs against the Yankees to help take the Rangers to their first ever World Series, but for his efforts to persuade a little boy to eat the right things.

Jake couldn’t have been happier.  We had to make several calls that afternoon because he felt compelled to share his experience with our entire family.  How many people have the opportunity to talk to their hero?  It was truly an incredibly special moment for an incredibly special little boy.  Hamilton solidified my stance that he is a strong role model for our children.

See, I think of Hamilton as the anti-Barkley (who doesn’t remember Charles’s infamous, “I am not a role model” campaign).   Josh has not only accepted, but embraced his role model status.  He understands that, as Luke 12:48 reminds us, “For everyone to whom much is given, of him shall much be required.” He uses every speaking engagement or interview as an opportunity to share the name of Christ with anyone willing to listen.  And since he is so open about his relationship with Jesus, we have higher expectations of him.  Think about it – can you imagine the ESPN ticker if they listed EVERY professional athlete who had a beer on Monday night?  We’d quickly lose interest watching the hundreds of names go by.  If he wasn’t a Christian, no one would care – including Satan.  I strongly believe that Satan attacks those who are put into influential roles in hopes of tearing them down and, in doing so, jeopardizing their ability to bring people to Christ.  His openness about his dark past and optimism for a bright future because of his relationship with Jesus makes Josh an easy target.

And though I’ve never personally dealt with addiction, I’ve seen it touch, consume, and destroy the lives of people I know.  Having witnessed this I know that Josh understands what those who don’t struggle with addiction can’t completely grasp – recovery is a lifelong process.  Addicts have to choose daily, often multiply times a day, to say no to the vice that is controlling their life.  People who battle addiction accept that you are only ever a “recovering” addict, you are never truly cured.

I should probably be clear that I’m not condoning what happened.  Josh is in a position (fair or not) where he has to be more cautious about how he acts and the decisions he makes.  What I am saying is that because he’s one of the greatest baseball players the game has ever seen, and because he so openly professes his belief in Christ, we put him on a pedestal.  His God-gifted talent and God-given platform to share his beliefs make him seem larger than life, and as we all know, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.  So instead of casting stones and passing judgment, I think we should embrace Hamilton for what he is – an imperfect Christian who has made and will continue to make mistakes.  He is flawed, but he is also forgiven.  Most of all, I hope we can all use this as a sobering reminder that heroes are human too.    

We love you, Josh, and I still whole-heartedly believe that you are a very worthy role model for my little boys.  Prayers sent your way!