I'M IN!

 How many times have I said that recently? (A lot!) Sure! Yes- I'll go! I'll play! Let's do it! Sign me up! See you then! 

Over the years I've signed up for a lot of different tennis teams, and I'm thankful for every captain, partner and teammate. We've had so much fun together over the years. We've trained, practiced, studied, and then put all of that preparation on the line against other players. Truthfully, it's not for cowards. Tennis is a competitive sport, and only those who win make the cut, get the invitation, and then have the opportunity say, 'Yes! I'm in!' 

Today I'm reminded of another team I signed up for, one that also is not for cowards. I didn't qualify for this team and never could I have been good enough to make the cut. But I got the invite loud and clear anyway. There was no doubt- the captain wanted me on His team! I was nervous. I was afraid to sign up because I was scared that I would fail him...that I would bring the team down. The captain actually told me that he would train me himself and make me qualified! But then there was another problem...I was already on a different team, and we thought we were way cooler than his. If I changed teams I was gonna lose some friends. But something deep down inside me wouldn't let it go. So I started reading the material he sent me, and it didn't take long before I found my tearful self on my knees and saying YES! I'M IN! And just like that- Jesus Christ became the Captain of my life, my Lord and my Savior, my everything and my forever! 

Sometimes I am not a great team member. Sometimes I get lazy and don't eat right (study His word,) or I don't train (put his words into practice,) and sometimes I don't even show up (go to church.) Jesus never puts me on the bench, but sometimes I bench myself. 

But not today. Today I'm in! 

Yes, the cold-blooded murder of my brother-in-Christ, Charlie Kirk, was a (horrifying) wake up call. Time is of the essence. There is no time left to be lazy, cowardly, or on the sidelines. I am on team Jesus and I am ALL IN. If I am hated for it, I'm in good company. (see John 15:18)

What about you?

 Are you in or out? Think hard about whose team you're on. 

If you don't belong to Jesus, there is still room on the team...for now....

Curious about who Jesus really is? Find a Bible. Read it. If you don't know where to start, try the book of John, the fourth book of the New Testament. 

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1: 3 

EASTER...What is it anyway?

What is Easter anyway? I know what you’re thinking. ‘Oh boy,Charlene, you’ve really bitten off more than you can chew this time!’ You are so right. Easter is way too vast a subject for a little blogger like me to tackle… but I just can’t help myself. It’s my blog and I’ll blog if I want to! Ha.

Okay… let’s start with the easy stuff. There’s the Easter Bunny, Easter eggs, Easter baskets, Easter candy, Easter egg hunts, Chocolate Bunnies, Peeps, Jelly Beans, Easter bonnets, Easter outfits, and Easter shoes. (Yes…you can bring out those white shoes again.)

Oh but there is so much more….

It might be possible to study for a lifetime and never read everything that has been written on the spiritual significance of Easter to the Christian faith. Suffice it to say that, in a nutshell, Easter is the single most important celebration for followers of Jesus Christ. Why? Because everything that we Christians believe, trust and hope for hinges on the historic event of Jesus Christ having been raised from the dead.  If the resurrection didn’t happen, even Paul said that we should be pitied above all men! (I Corinthians15:19)

You might think it’s all poppycock, and you are free to do so. But if so, I have to think that there have been times when God has caused you to see his resurrection power and glory when you were just looking around.

Spring is that incredible time of the year when we witness resurrection all around us. The gray skies, brown grass, bare trees, cold, hard, unfriendly ground, and damp, dreary days are replaced with sunshine, blue skies, leafy, shade-trees, green grass, beautiful flowers, birds nesting and singing, and animals playing. It is mesmerizing to me, actually. I can’t get enough of it!

I don’t know how these glorious bursts of life can be witnessed without giving honor and praise to our creator. When I sit and observe the majesty of nature all around me I am compelled to worship the Creator and sustainer of life. And when I think of how gracious He is to us – even painting us a clear picture of the hope of resurrection through His creation, my faith is multiplied.

Just in case you want to study about the resurrection of Jesus Christ for yourself, there is a really good book out there by Lee Strobel called, The Case for the Resurrection: A First-Century Investigative Reporter Probes History's Pivotal Event. FYI, Lee Strobel was an atheist that set out to prove that this resurrection stuff was nonsense. The good news is that as you read his book, you also learn a lot about what the Bible has to say on the subject.

Happy Easter everyone! 

He is risen!!!

Light in the Darkness

Last week, as surreal as it seems at this moment, I was in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. ‘Why?’, my mother asked me before I left and after I returned. I have given that question some thought, and hope that penning these words will help me find and then share the answer. 

My instinctive answer, which will satisfy some but not all of you, is that God told me to go.  But that sort of implies that I am this über obedient child of God who always hears his voice and follows his lead. Well if you know me at all you know that I don’t suffer from excessive self-discipline. The truth is that I have been doing some praying lately asking the Lord to help me do better, because I have been too busy and preoccupied to spend much time with him. What I needed was a big intravenous bolus of Jesus, and he decided to send me to Honduras to get it. 

One of the things that I love about our Creator is his capacity for irony. He loves to shake things up, to use his power through our weakness, to show his love to the unlovable, to give grace to those who least deserve it... that sort of thing. Well, leave it to him to take me to one of the darkest places on the planet in order to lead me back into the light.

Tegucigalpa is the capital of Honduras, and Wikipedia calls it, ‘the murder capital of the world.’ It is a very dark place where people who can afford it live behind walls, have razor sharp wire on their balconies and bars on their windows. Many many people, however, can’t afford a home with windows or balconies. The poverty is overwhelming, and the fear is palpable. Children without parents live on the streets and sniff yellow glue to numb their hunger for food, security and love. They join gangs to try to belong to something, as awful as that something is. The girls and boys are sold into prostitution or child pornography rings, and it’s big business. The drug lords are more powerful than anyone wants to admit, but everyone knows the truth. Many people are desperate and the violence is off the charts.

(My iPhone, which is worth three months wages in Tegucigalpa, was stolen the first day, so I will upload more photos once I receive them from the rest of the team.)

Como se dice...?

Daniela and I reading a urinalysis

There are around 10,000 various humanitarian organizations listed with the Honduran government who come to try to help. I was with some folks from St. Philip’s Church (downtown Charleston) and folks from a Methodist church in Greenwood. We were considered a ‘medical brigade.’ and were led by Dr. Ken Holden and his wife, Pat, who have been making these trips for over twenty  years. We were not alone, as when we pulled our nineteen trunks full of medications and medical supplies off the airport baggage claim belt, we had to be careful not to accidentally grab one from one of the other groups who arrived at the same time. We had four doctors and one nurse (me), plus six other souls who wanted to serve the precious people of Honduras. We were careful to follow the many rules which were in place for our safety. We worked hard, as we operated our traveling medical clinic in various places, stocking our supplies at night and seeing as many patients as possible each day. We served alongside some Christian Honduran physicians and medical students, who worked double-duty as translators. All in all we treated over 1000 patients in seven days. I was the ‘pharmacist’, and thankfully had some really good people on my little team to help me. Suzanne, Daniella, Amanda and I did our best to see that every single person received vitamins, medicine for parasites, a toothbrush, and whatever medications were prescribed for them. 

 Outside the clinic at Flor de Campo

To be brutally honest, had the Lord not been with us, we might have become overwhelmed by negative emotions such as sadness, feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, frustration, and even anger at the sight of such poverty and need. But we were encouraged to find a mysterious kind of joy, pockets of love, humbling hope, and beams of light in the eyes and hearts of those we were serving. And with each passing day I softened. It was as if someone or something was chiseling away at my heart of stone to uncover the heart of flesh that was apparently connected to my tear ducts. 

I was moved by the vision and hard work that had lovingly provided a high-roofed gymnasium carved out of the rock of the mountain...an open air playground that was safe from the dangers below and overlooked some of the poorest and violent parts of the city. Amanda Scott, a missionary with the Lamb Institute told me that the preschoolers sang praise songs to God up there and she imagined those little voices washing the community below. (I cried a little too. It’s okay.) I was touched by the passion of those who have given up the conveniences of life in the States to be full time missionaries... like Suzy McCall who started the Lamb Institute preschool and has since opened a beautiful orphanage out in the country up on a hill where the children can go to school, run and play, and grow up in the love of Christ and safety of their ‘Tias’. I was encouraged by the story of beautiful Betsy Hake, a gracious lady whose doctors told her that she would surely die of her liver cancer, but instead years later continues to run Jericho, a ministry to women of the street (prostitutes) and their children. (Her Manhattan doctor is a believer now.) I was inspired by the generosity and compassion that Dr. Rena Duron shows as she constantly looks for new and creative ways to serve the poor by providing them with medical care. I was touched by the gratefulness that overflowed from the hearts of those we served... the hugs, and smiles, and the hundreds of times I heard, ‘Gracias’, and ‘Dios te Bendiga.’ (God bless you)

Sweet visit with Jeremy 

Towards the end of the week I received a wonderful surprise, when one of Sean’s soccer buddies from Wheaton College came to see me. Jeremy Tolleson is starting his fourth year as a missionary in Tegucigalpa with the Micah Project, a ministry that reaches out to street boys and offers them a safe and loving place to live and be free from the addictions of their pasts. We were able to spend a couple of hours catching up. So cool. 

One of the most memorable events of the week happened when we had driven far from the city out to Proyecto Victoria, a ministry started in 1977 by Cuban-American pastor Mario Fumero. The purpose of the ministry is to help gang members get out of the life of gangs, violence and drugs. Last Thursday Pastor Fumero invited people from the surrounding community to come receive our medical care. During our frenzied day of treating over 200 patients, most of whom had walked for miles to get to us,  I was asked to take my pharmacist hat off and put my nursing cap on to debride a wound. The patient was an 89 year-old man whose foot was severely infected.  (About the same age my father would be if he were still with us) I was excited to get to do some real nursing, but I was concerned about the amount of pain my patient would experience. Desperately wanting to do something to alleviate the pain, I asked one of the dental team members if I could have some lidocaine, which I tried to use topically. (Yes, we had a dental team with us for two days. Awesome.) The debridement process was long and arduous, but my little man was a champion. One of the staff members prayed for him, as did I with tears in my eyes, and suddenly the Lord reminded me of the Last Supper when he washed the feet of his disciples. At that moment I felt that my prayers were being answered... through this little man with a bum foot... out in the middle of nowhere in Honduras. Truly... washing that man’s foot was not  just something I was doing for him but it was something that God was doing for me. 

Oh...and those ten strangers? Ken, Pat, Jimmy, Kathy, Katherine, Doug, Suzanne, Kit, Steve, and Paddy... each one brought special gifts and talents and it was a beautiful thing to watch the team work together in unity. We shared a powerful and unique experience, I learned from each and every one of them, and they will always have a special place in my heart. 

Gracias, Señor, y Dios los bendiga a todos ustedes.

Charlene

ps: I found this article for those of you who want a more graphic description of the violence in Honduras so you can know how to pray.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/12/31/violence-in-honduras-ap-c_n_2389053.html

3/23/13: This article was just sent to me today. It tells the story about the lady behind the LAMB institute: Suzy McCall. So inspiring.

http://magazine.cofc.edu/2013/03/15/suzy-mccall/

The War After the War

We live in a time when war is, for lack of a better word, used. War is a big seller. Movies, books, video games and rhetoric about war have sold billions of dollars and won elections.

War is glamorized. We all know deep down that it is awful, that it means people are going to die, but most of us also realize that it is inevitable, and a necessary evil. I get that. It would be a bigger evil to allow the bullies of the world to get by with the atrocities that some of them carry out on innocent people. That is the catch. Somebody has to stand up to the bullies, to step in, intervene in the behalf of those who are too weak or oppressed to defend themselves. We call these people heroes, because they literally give up everything: their rights, their freedoms, their comforts and riches and sometimes their very lives for the dream of a safer, more free world.

Most of us are simply not willing to sign up for that sort of thing, but some do.

A few years ago our son made that choice. He knew full well what the risks were, but he took the oath, put on the uniform, suffered through boot camp, lived oversees for years and spent eleven months with his brothers of the 173rd Airborne Brigade in rugged and dangerous Afghanistan.

Pearman and Fitz OEFX

One of his closest buddies was 'Fitz'. Geoff Pearman and Mark Fitzgibbons were an odd couple of sorts, considering Geoff's passion for Oklahoma Sooner Football and Fitz's propensity to wear burnt orange and say things like, 'Hook 'em'. But Geoff and Mark liked each other instantly. They were both a little older than the other enlisted guys, and both had gone to college. They became friends, then battle buddies and eventually brothers. They had each other's backs. Fitz earned Geoff's trust early on when Mark was still one of the new guys. The platoon was preparing for deployment and on a training mission. Geoff was sick and having a lot of trouble staying hydrated and keeping up. Without hesitating, without being prompted, and in spite of Geoff resisting, Fitz took Geoff's 50 pound backpack, piled it on top of his own, and didn't miss a step.

See what I mean? That is why we call them heroes.

Well we do call them that.... While they're there. But what do we do with them after they come home? I mean all of us... As a people, a nation... for whom these guys risked everything. Are we honoring them when they get back? I dare say that we can do better. There are way too many OIF and OEF veterans who are not thriving.

When Geoff was preparing to come home and re-enter what we call, 'the real world' or civilian life, to be more proper, I was warned by other Army moms and wives to read up and prepare myself for....something. I wasn't sure what, but the warnings were ominous. How do you prepare for something when you don't even know what it is? PTSD? What actually is it? Would I recognize it? Would Geoff even know if he was suffering from it? I started reading what I could, but it was overwhelming, frankly. And it seemed pointless to dwell on negative thinking, so I stopped reading and just tried to 'be there' for Geoff in whatever way I could. He has been a civilian again for over a year, and is taking steps towards achieving his dreams and goals, but it has not been a piece of cake. I call the whole process,' The War After the War.'

Today Geoff will don his uniform again in a stark reminder that the war is not over... Not for him, not for his closest platoon brothers and certainly not for my friend, Kathy Fitzgibbons, who will bury her son, Mark today. Mark completed his duty as a soldier just a few months ago. He successfully dodged bullets, RPGs, and IEDs in OEFX, but did not survive the transition to civilian life. We don't know what happened yet, but we are all... Soldiers and families who knew and loved Fitz, suffocating in agonizing grief. 

Rest in peace, dear sweet sky soldier. You will never be forgotten.

Today

Today is Saturday, July 14, 2012. It is one day of my life.

 Sometimes I might over think things. My family would all be nodding in enthusiastic agreement to that statement. But seriously, have you ever thought about how special, amazing, precious, and brief one day can be. Some days are completely forgettable. Unfortunately, for most of us, I fear that most days are so. We allow days to just run together like scoops of different flavors of ice cream left in a bowl to melt. They turn into something much less appetizing than intended. Some days are written on our hearts like a monogram on a locket. There are the days we remember with much joy, such as the birth of a child. There are days that we would rather forget but cannot, like September 11, 2001.

But what about all of the days in-between?

I have often, in my over-thinking kind of way, wondered how I would feel if someone secretly videotaped my life and played it back for me. How many days would be video-worthy? If I sat down and said what my priorities are, would the video match the list, or am I kidding myself? I think I would want to edit that video. I would want it to show the days when I was most kind, productive, or generous. I don't think I would so much want to watch the days that I wasted on being unkind, unproductive, or selfish. According to my math, I have lived 20319 and 1/2  days so far. Twenty thousand, three hundred nineteen and one half! And every single one of those days has been lived as a citizen of the United States of America... the land of opportunity. As opposed to a lot of places in the world, this is a place where a person has a choice. We are born free. It is then up to us to decide what to do with that. We can soar or we can crawl. And so much of whether we end up at the top or bottom of the food chain  is what we decide to do with each one of the days that we've been given. And whether or not we would be proud of that videotape of our days is up to us too.

I don't know how many days I have left. None of us do. But I know that I want to soar, not crawl. I also want to be proud of that video. Maybe each day won't be front-page amazing, but if I set out to fill each day with purpose.... with kindness, productivity, generosity, wisdom, appreciation, and love, then the frames of that video will be one that I can be proud of.

Football Fever

I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but it did happen. I fell in love. Oh football, how I love thee! Let me count the ways.

College football is my favorite.

High school football is also great, because it is as American as apple pie and Elvis. I went to the best high school ever and we were good at football and a lot of those guys were my friends. Go Big Reds!

As for the NFL, I have always liked it too, but I don't get as emotionally involved in those games. Maybe if I played Fantasy Football I would, but I don't. By the way, who knew that FF was going to be so ginormous? Wow.

Back to college football:

I love the sounds. Each sport has it's own sounds, and I am not afraid to say that there is no contest. Football sounds are the absolute best. Nobody can compete with the marching bands. Nice try with the organ, baseball, but not so much. Golf? Ha ha. No. As much as I love tennis, nope. Soccer? I love soccer, and there are places (England) that might compete a little bit ...with their throngs of men singing ancient songs of allegiance.... Someone somewhere (South Africa?) decided to introduce the worst idea ever to soccer: the vuvuzela. I rest my case. Anyway, the college marching bands...how great are they? They play their school's fight songs with such enthusiasm that we can't help but get up and clap along. At halftime they march into cool formations representing their schools. They do all of this as a unit. Rarely do we know a band member's individual name. But we do know our fight songs! I'll bet there a lot of folks who could even hum parts of the Notre Dame fight song or the Michigan fight song but wouldn't know what they were humming. My favorite marching band is affectionately called, 'The Pride of West Virginia.' I get a little misty eyed every time I watch them form the outline of West Virginia, while playing 'Simple Gifts' by Copland.

I love the weather. The beginning of football season signals the end of the worst of summer. It means that soon we'll be getting out our jeans and hoodies. And there are few places on earth that are prettier than the place where I fell in love with football. West Virginia in the autumn is breathtakingly beautiful.

I love the excitement. How many times do we watch a game where both teams have given it their all for sixty minutes, only for it to come down to the last two seconds? Have you ever been there? You can't hear yourself think! The noise is awesome!

I love the game itself. Are they going to pass or run it? Should the quarterback use the shot gun? Should he keep it and run? Are they going to blitz? How about a little slant pass over the middle? Who's stronger, our offensive line or their defensive line? Who's faster, our wide receivers or their defensive backs? Are they really going to kick the ball to that guy? He-could-go-all-the-way!!!

I even love the fact that football has cheerleaders and pom pom girls and the girls are still allowed to be pretty. Somehow the PC crowd has not yet imposed some rule outlawing pretty cheerleaders and pom pom girls, because by being pretty they make some people feel ugly.  Yep. They probably do.

And then there are the rules. There are so many rules! Not only is it good to know the rules, it's helpful to know the signals. I like the fact that I know that when the official starts patting the top of his head he means that there was an ineligible receiver downfield. And I guess we can all thank (former?) NCAA official Gordon Riese for giving college football the instant replay challenge. Although every Sooner fan might not recognize his name, most would surely recognize his handiwork from the 2006 game between Oklahoma and Oregon. Had the rules allowed for an instant replay review, Oklahoma would have won that game.

I think I may have transitioned into some things that I don't love....

While we're on the subject of rules, let's talk for just a moment about the, 'excessive celebration' rule. Really NCAA? Excessive celebration? These guys are taught to get as pumped up as they can to play the game of football. They have to out smart, out muscle, and out speed the other team over and over to try to get to that magical place called the end zone. It's hard. It's dangerous. People get hurt trying. And yet....when they finally cross that goal line and score a touchdown, they aren't allowed to celebrate???? Now that's just plain dumb. Taunting is different. Penalize taunting. Don't penalize celebrating. Are we not smart enough to know the difference? I think we are.

Speaking of the NCAA, am I the only one who thinks they are getting a little scary? I mean, they are busy little beavers....sanctions here, warnings there, threats everywhere. I'm beginning to think that they have created a rulebook that is absolutely impossible to obey so they have job security. It's not a matter of whether a school has messed up, it's more a matter of who they are going to go after today. Who is going to stop the madness?

And last but not least...in fact I'm quite sure I will write about this again....WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON WITH THE THE REALIGNMENT OF TEAMS AND CONFERENCES???

Feel free to opine.

Meanwhile there is no debate about what is on the TV at the Pearman house on Saturdays. This coming Saturday my two favorite teams are playing on different channels at the same time. Oklahoma is currently ranked #1 in the land. Boomer Sooner! And WVU is playing at home against LSU. College Game Day in Morgantown??? Sunnyside will accept the sacrifice of many old nasty couches. It's hard to believe that I lived nine years of my life in Morgantown. Those were good years, but that's another story.

Just sayin...

Hey Djokovic, you return like a girl!

And I mean that in the nicest way, really. I really do.

Through the decades of watching the top tennis professionals battle it out on the court I have observed a few things. One of them is that in the men's game, the serve is considered a huge weapon and the return not so much. Exception: Andre Agassi. There are probably more, but he was the best returner I remember seeing on the men's side.... until now.  It makes sense, really. Men are put together differently than women. They have strong shoulders and arms. Women, for the most part are not as strong in the upper body. In the women's game the return of serve  has been considered a huge weapon for many of the top players. Right off the bat I think of Chris Evert, Monica Seles, Steffi Graf, Venus Williams, Serena Williams, Maria Sharapova....you get it. In fact, the only top women's players that I really remember being known for their serves more than their returns were Billy Jean King and Martina Navritilova, both amazing serve and volley players. You may disagree with me, but even as huge as Venus and Serena serve, I think their returns are what  blow people off the court. When I picture these two hitting returns one word comes to mind more than anything else: fearless. They can be up match point or down match point, or anywhere in between and you can bet on one thing: they are going to hit all out on that return of serve. And this fearless, aggressive, 'go big or go home,' kind of returning has, forgive the expression, served them quite well.

On the men's side, however, the servers have had a huge advantage, and that is still true for the most part. Look at John Isner. He is 6'9". He not only hits the serve a million miles and hour, his height allows him to go for the angles too. Many of his  matches have a lot of tie breaks, because it is really hard to break his serve. Yep, he's the guy who, on the third day, and after playing a total of  11 hours and 5 minutes, and 183 games, finally beat Mahut at Wiimbledon last summer. Nobody could break the other guy's serve. It is a record that will likely never be broken. But I digress..... sort of. Here's what has gone through my mind for a long time: what if the huge servers, like John Isner and Andy Roddick, could return better? I mean, what would it take to turn them from one-sided players into players that can do it all, like the Williams sisters on the women's side?

Enter stage left: NOVAK DJOKOVIC.

If you missed the match between Djokovic and Nadal yesterday afternoon, you will get another chance, and I couldn't recommend it more. It was like watching modern day gladiators, and history unfolding before my eyes. There is so much to say, but I will try to stay focused on my point, which is this: Djokovic's return of serve was phenomenal. McEnroe, Carillo, and Enberg were drooling over it, and Nadal was baffled by it. Over and over again the ball came back hard and deep to the baseline, putting Rafa on his back foot and forcing him to hit short. More than once a voice in our living room would say, 'how does he keep doing that?' And then it hit me: Djokovic returns like a girl! His return of serves are not just hard, they aren't just deep, they are FEARLESS. Do you remember when he was down double match point against Federer in the semis? Roger hit a good serve out wide and what happened? BAM! Djokovic hit the return as hard as he possibly could for a clean winner....and ended up mounting a shocking comeback when it looked like Fed had it in the bag. Amazing.

So when I say that Novak Djokovic returns like a girl, I mean it! Way to go, Novak!