Seismic Shift
An amazing thing happened Sunday morning. Monumental, even.
As I stood in the bathroom, getting ready for Sunday morning services, Noah puttered around the play room with his favorite toy: The digger truck. This, of course, is not a monumental event: Noah and his digger truck spend hours together every day. But apparently he wanted a human playmate as well, because all of sudden, I heard his little voice yelling out these words:
“Daddy! Daddy! Daaaaaaadddy!”
And with that, the tectonic plates of the Tol family shifted dramatically.
You see, shortly after Noah’s February birthday, he suddenly developed a very strong attachment to “Mommy.” I became the seriously Preferred Parent for outdoor playtime, bedtime stories and everything in between. In fact, we even discovered a sure-fire way to get our toddler upstairs to bed without complaining: Just threaten to have Daddy carry him upstairs. (”No! Mommy” And he burrows into my shoulder every time.) As you can imagine, “Mommy! Mommy!” has been a constant refrain around our house for several months.
So you can imagine the shock (and exhilaration) I experienced as the words “Daddy” echoed through our home. Has Noah finally decided to give his mommy a break? Could it be that the “Mommy” era is finally drawing to a close?
Somehow, I anticipate and dread that thought at the same time.
Farewell, Tom
Okay… I think I’m ready to write about him now. I’ve come to terms with things as they are and have stopped longing for more. I’m ready to move on.
But before I do, let me just share with you about the events of this past weekend, so you’ll understand how I’ve come to this place.
It started on Thursday. There was a little episode involving me, a nurse, a needle, and an armchair. I had to have some blood tested because we’re changing our life insurance. And the experience went a little something like this:
I fast for four hours before blood is to be taken. Nurse comes to the house to collect. I feel… a little nervous. Nurse makes pleasant conversation while poking needle into my arm. I break into a cold sweat—and 
my world starts getting small. Nurse notices blood draining from my face. I am directed to the aforementioned armchair. Nurse tells me to “Fight through it.” I request juice, knowing it will help me “fight.” Nurse refuses juice. I think unkind thoughts about the nurse. Nurse acquiesces to my second request for juice. My blood pressure finally starts climbing again after the juice works it’s magic.
Now those of you who read my “Quirked” post are laughing right now because you know how proud I was of overcoming this kind of reaction. But in my defense, I did have to fast before this bloodletting—and being able to eat and drink before the procedure is a key part of my survival strategy.
So why do I share this embarrassing experience? Well, let’s take a little rabbit trail to a kid named Alden.
Alden is a member of our church youth group. And I got to know him well during our summer trip to Colorado Challenge. Now I like Alden, I really do: I think God could do some cool things with this kid. But here’s the thing: He taunts me. He calls me old. He’s given me the nickname “Grandma.” And so, for obvious reasons, I have a score to settle.
(Incidentally, Alden hates it when I mention him on this blog. So…if you will look to your right, you will see that I have given him his very own category here. Sorry Alden. Payback. What can I say?)
With that as background, you will understand why I decided to play Fantasy Football this year. (That’s right, just take a minute to pick yourself off the floor and wipe the shock off your face.) As many of you know, I’m not exactly a football guru. I hear “safety” and I think of child-proofing the house. A “sack” is something I throw groceries into. Football has never made it to the inner circle of things I actually care about.
But when some of my fellow youth group leaders approached me about this year’s Fantasy Football League, they found my weak spot. They were looking for extra players and jokingly invited me to play. But the joking became serious when one of them said, “It could be a chance to beat Alden.” That got my attention: A wicked gleam sparked in my eye and I never looked back.
And that’s how I found myself sitting around the kitchen table last week with a group of youth group guys, drafting my first Fantasy Football team. Now you need to understand: I may have only a rudimentary understanding of the game. And I know next to nothing about any NFL players. (Did you know Joe Montana doesn’t even play anymore?) But I am in this league to win. I will not be the girl who’s an easy win for the other teams.
So I did a little research. I watched a pre-season game or two. I had Brian pause the TiVo and point out the various positions on the field. (Incidentally, I still don’t understand what the heck a tight end does.) I’m serious, folks. I knew all those hours honing my research skills at the Calvin library would pay off some day.
And that’s why, come draft time, I knew who to pick. With the top running backs already taken, I used my first round pick to snag the prize quarterback. “I’m taking Tom Brady,” I said with confidence. (And some of you already know this is going to turn into a tear-jerker.)
Well, the draft was actually more fun than I expected. And guess who’s team put the first fantasy points on her league’s board when the games began? Mine! I was off to the races… Ready to conquer the Fantasy Football world.
Until Sunday afternoon. (Que dramatic music here.) When I sat down to watch some football with Brian. My running back, Michael Turner, was off to an explosive start, and I felt some strange feelings as I watched the game: Feelings of . . . dare I say it? . . . enjoyment, interest. This Fantasy Football thing was transforming my view of the game—knocking down the impenetrable walls that had stifled my inner football fanfor so many years.
And just as I began to delight in this newfound football experience, the announcer casually mentioned the “Tom Brady” injury. There would be “more news at halftime,” and “it was such a shame to see this all-star quarterback taken out in just the first quarter of the game.” (Dramatic music swells.)
What? My quarterback? Injured? How could it be? As the games continued and the news began to creep out, the prognosis looked grim: It could be a torn ACL. Possibly a season-ending injury.
I went to church on Sunday night with a heavy heart. The gray skies fit my solemn mood as I checked ESPN for news of Brady’s injury the following Monday afternoon. A press conference at 3 pm revealed the results of his MRI: He will need knee surgery. His season is over. (Dramatic music fades to the sound of weeping and gnashing of teeth.)
And this brings us back around to my experience with the nurse. Because that feeling I had while she took my blood—the world fading into black as I broke into a cold sweat and had to lie down? That’s kind of what it felt like to lose Tom Brady. And the nurses words, “Fight through it” have become an echo through my pain.
So now I stand here. The sweet promises of Tom Brady have become nothing more than a dream. And I am ready to let him go. Farewell, Tom. Our time together was too short, and our glory too small. But I must bid you adieu.
(Que the theme from “Rocky” here.)
But I will not give up. I will not let this beat me down. I will move forward. To fight. To win another day.
Editor’s Note: If you are a member of the 2008 EDGE Fantasy Football League, you are not allowed to make any more snide comments about my quarterback. He is no longer “mine.” I have dropped him to waivers. It is officially over between us.
Colorado Stories: The Wake Up Call
Time for yet another Colorado Story:
You can file this one under “Funny. And by Funny, I mean Awful.”
So, you know how some events are really annoying when they happen? But then, with some time and counseling, they just seem funny? Well, this might be one of those for me… someday. But not yet. Frankly I’m still a bit annoyed at some Hoosiers for this one. Maybe you’ll agree at the end of this little tale.
First, some background. You might recall that we stayed at Quaker Ridge, a Christian camp north of Colorado Springs. Lovely place with a awesome view of Pikes Pike.
Not quite as tall, but much closer to Quaker Ridge, is Soldier Mountain, roughly 9,200 feet above sea level. More importantly to us, it’s about 1,000 feet above Quaker Ridge, and a hike from Quaker Ridge to the summit is about 4,000 feet.
That’s right: 4 feet forward, 1 foot up. Not a walk in the park. And, actually, the last 300 feet are more like 2 feet forward, 1 foot up.
On loose rocks.
The view, though, is worth the work. Here a view from the top. Click the picture for a larger version.
This picture was obviously taken during the day.
The rest of this story takes place a night.
For, you see, one of the “perks” of staying at Quaker Ridge is sleeping out, under the stars, at the top of Soldier Mountain… and I can’t emphasize enough how much “perks” is in air quotes. Big, giant, raise-your-hands-above-your-head, stand-on-a-chair, air quotes.
Now, for the record, I like camping. Did it most of my life growing up. I don’t mind tents, I don’t mind sleeping out underneath the open air. I don’t mind hiking, or climbing, or sleeping bags. I enjoy waking up to a great sunrise.
So, I really like the theory of sleeping out underneath the stars at the top of a mountain in the middle of the Colorado wilderness.
But, as Jan L.A. van de Snepscheut said, “In theory there is no difference between theory and practice. But, in practice, there is.”
First of all, it’s camp tradition to leave around 11:00 pm to sleep at the top of the mountain.
So, let’s keep track of this all: 1,000 feet, loose rocks, 11:00pm. We actually got off a bit late, like 11:30. So, 1,000 feet, loose rocks, 11:30pm.
On the hike up our youth group quickly diverged into two teams: the quick team, and the not-so-quick team.
Amy and I were in the non-so-quick team. Team Quick made it to the top of the mountain by Midnight. Team Not-So-Quick got there about 12:35.
1,000 feet, loose rocks, 11:35 depart, 1 hour hike.
And, because there is no Soldier Mountain Hilton, you need to — literally — dig in once you get to the top. Oh, and being, you know, a summit, there’s not a lot of level ground up there. So you want to make sure your head is facing uphill, so you don’t pass out.
Let me tell you: you haven’t lived until you’ve tried tried to make 6 feet of semi-level ground by pulling out roots and tossing rocks. In the pitch black.
1,000 feet, loose rocks, 11:35pm, 1 hour hike, roots & rocks, face up hill.
All told, we actually did a fairly good job getting settled in. The kids were real troopers, and Keith, our more experienced youth leader, made sure we were far enough from the edge as to not fall in.
I’m pretty sure everybody was asleep by 1:00… or so. Ahem. Alden, I’m looking at you.
Well, our group was asleep. Little did we know that, just a few short hours later, another group would be waking up.
For you see, around 4:00am, the group from West Lafayette Indiana was waking up.
To climb up the mountain.
To watch the sun rise.
—
Recall, if you will, Team Quick. Their time up the mountain: 30 minutes. Our Hoosier, er, friends, also had a Team Quick. A very “joyful” Team Quick. And by joyful, I mean highly annoying.
Team Quick Indiana made it to the top of the mountain around 4:30am, and decided they needed to encourage their follow group members. So, they started yelling, in words seared into my memory, “Way to go guys! You can do it! Woohoo!”
I’m not 100% sure they knew we were there at first. We were only 20 feet away, but it was pitch dark.
However, I’m fairly sure they saw us by the time Team Not-So-Quick Indiana made it to the top around 5:00am.
And I’m down-right certain they saw us by when Team Really-Slow Indiana finally showed up around 5:30am.
1,000 feet, loose rocks, 11:35pm, 1 hour hike, roots & rocks, face up hill. Dumb Indiana kids yelling at the top of their lungs at 4:30am.
Now, it would be one thing if they kept moving up the mountain. There was, after all, an extremely nice spot about 150 feet beyond us that was wide open and perfect for a group their size.
But, no. Instead, they decided to mill about, among the sleeping bags, talking about how dumb it was to get up at 4:30 to watch a sun rise.
—
So, two groups of tired, annoyed people milling about at the top of a short mountain in Colorado.
What could go wrong?
Well, maybe, perhaps, one of our kids might have suggested that Team Indiana move along. I’m sure he was polite.
And, one if their leaders, mistaking our kid for one of his own, might have suggested our kid go take a long walk off a short pier.
Tired and annoyed had turned into a big pile of awkward.
And thus, we waited for the sunrise.
Which, in hindsight, was totally not worth it, because the sun comes up on the other side of the mountain, behind some trees. So it’s not really a sunrise, as much as a big bag of bright.
—
After a while, our Indiana friends tried to do some devos. And we packed up our gear and started back down the mountain.
1,000 feet, loose rocks, 11:35pm, 1 hour hike, roots & rocks, face up hill. Dumb Indiana kids. Pile of Awkward. Another 1,000 feet.
On the way down I happened to pass the leader who had suggested the pier. Despite the situation, I felt bad we had given them lip. So I decided some peace pipe was in order, and I apologized on behalf of our group.
He mentioned something about “yeah, I didn’t know it was your kid” (as if it was ok to suggest peirs to his own kids?) and that was that.
But, right as I turned to continue down the mountain, he made the offhanded comment: “You know, if I learned anything tonight, it’s that you shouldn’t sleep so close to the edge of the mountain.”
—
And that, my friends, is why West Lafayette Indiana is no longer welcome in Holland, Michigan.
What Does 143,000,000 Mean to You?
1430,000,000 is a big number. Too big. Too overwhelming. And too sad to comprehend. Because 143,000,000 is the number of children in this world who are growing up alone.
As a soon-to-be adoptive parent, I love sharing about our adoption journey. There’s great joy and excitement in this process. But there’s a heaviness that comes with this path too: As we anticipate bringing one little child into our home, we also feel a burden for all the many that will be left behind.
I ran across this video this afternoon and it poked a few more holes in my heart. So I’m sharing it with you and hoping that perhaps it’ll touch yours too.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g6WEcrfCIwI&eurl=http://solidrck.blogspot.com/2008/05/perspective.html]
I know that adoption isn’t the path for everyone; but it seems to me that we can all do something to help these 143,000,000 children: sponsorship, advocacy, prayer . . . there’s so much work to be done. If you’d like to learn more about getting involved, here’s a few places to start:
http://www.bethanysponsorship.org/ - A child sponsorship program run by our own adoption agency, Bethany Christian Services.