I am certain that I’m not the only person who will be a bit subdued this Friday evening and perhaps for some Fridays to come. You see, in our house Friday evening means the PBS NewsHour and then Washington Week. Gwen Ifill, the host of Washington Week and co anchor of the NewsHour, died this past Monday due to cancer. No longer will her amazing smile and journalistic acumen fill our living room with warmth and knowledge.

John Dickerson of CBS News said it best in his tribute to Gwen.

Gwen’s smile. It was so strong it greeted you before you met her. You could read by the light of her smile…. (See here for Dickerson’s the full piece).

I share that same sentiment. I will never forget Gwen’s smile. The joy expressed by Gwen spoke of a woman who loved what she did, and she did it very well.

I didn’t always agree with everything I heard on Washington Week, who would, but I was always enlightened. The discussion of the week’s events was always in the context of a host who exuded a joy for life in the midst of all the challenges that life can bring our way.

And during this last chapter of her life, she had her own serious challenge that ultimately took her from us. Yet, she did not allow it to diminish that smile or that dedication to her profession. I can relate to the story I read, how that people who met her on the street would go up and give her a hug. I always thought how much I would like for my wife to share a meal with Gwen. I would have settled for a cup of coffee.

I grew up in a family that watched the news. From grade school on, I have watched or listened to a number of broadcast journalists. I have respected many of them; I have only shed tears over the passing of one. Gwen Ifill, may your memory inspire us to live life with joy and a commitment to excellence. You showed us how it’s done.

Sometimes a story lies hidden in the shadows of the obvious. Such was the case last Sunday night in the final baseball game prior to the All Star break. The Giant’s Madison Bumgarner’s dominant one hitter was the headline as San Francisco defeated Arizona 4-0. Bumgarner hurled a no hitter through seven innings before yielding a hit with one out in the eighth. It was the pitching exploits of Bumgarner that understandably captivated the crowd at AT&T Park. However, there were two moments that revealed more than any statistical analysis could ever show.

First there was Bumgarner’s reaction to losing his bid to pitch his first no hitter. When Jake Lamb slapped a solid single to right, Bumgarner gave a halfhearted slap of his left fist into his glove. He was obviously disappointed but it would have been easy to miss that emotion. He climbed on the mound, refocused and coaxed a double play ground ball to end the inning.

In the bottom of eighth, while waiting in the on deck circle, a ball was fouled to the backstop. In a move uncharacteristic of player preparing to hit, Bumgarner left the on deck circle and picked up the ball. I can’t remember the last time I saw a ballplayer do that. Then Madison flipped the ball to the batboy and gave him an affirming soft tap to the backside, with the end of his bat, as he headed to the dugout.

A no hitter is a rare event that takes both great skill and some good luck. Many things must fall into place in this game of inches to accomplish holding another team hitless through nine innings. When Bumgarner lost another bid to add a no hitter to his illustrious resume, (he has four one hitters) he showed his humanness; who would not be disappointed, yet he was not devastated. He went back to work without letting personal loss interfere with the greater goal of winning the game. In the following half inning, he demonstrated an ability to step outside himself, chase down a foul ball and acknowledge the efforts of the batboy. Pitching a baseball game at any level calls for intense focus and is certainly an excuse for self-absorption. Losing a no hitter is reason enough to focus on one’s self and take a deep dive into what might have been. Instead, Madison Bumgarner showed that he was not too big to pick up a foul ball, and that the unsung work of that batboy merited a friendly pat on the back.

Bumgarner was indeed spectacular on the mound last Sunday evening. That was obvious. What didn’t show up in the box score was there to see if you were watching. Way to go Mad Bum!

My parents taught me not to brag. I’m not sure of the exact words they used, but it was clear that you did not heap praise on yourself and if others did, you received it graciously, while seeming to not be overly pleased. I’m uncertain where confidence ends and bragging begins. Muhammad Ali said, “It’s not bragging if you can back it up.” However whatever you call it, I know that what I am inclined to boast about is a good indication of where I find my personal identity. In spite of my upbringing, if I’m honest, I will admit that on occasion, I attempt to steer a conversation in a direction that enables me to do my share of polite and acceptable boasting. If I take note of my words, I can gain valuable insight into how I view my own identity. I don’t believe that I am wading in deeply to the waters of psychology when I state that identity is foundational to how we feel about ourselves and how we interact with the world around us. Many of the issues that we face individually and as a society at large can be traced to this fundamental understanding of who we are. In light of that, listen to these words recorded by the Jewish prophet Jeremiah.

Thus says the Lord: “Let not a wise man boast of his wisdom, and let not the mighty man boast of his might, let not a rich man boast of his riches, but let him who boasts boast of this, that he understands and knows Me, that I am the Lord who exercises loving-kindness, justice, and righteousness on earth; for I delight in these things,” declares the Lord.                                  Jeremiah 9:23-24 (NASB^®)

Jeremiah, with all the prophetic authority of “Thus says the Lord,” calls our attention to three types of people who may be tempted to boast; and again what is boasting if not fundamentally an outward expression of our self perceived identity. This identity or boasting as described here is based on the possession of wisdom, riches and might. These correlate well with our modern day obsession with education and wealth. Whether “might” speaks of power or the physical side of life both, are equally present in our modern day world and are highly valued. Not much has changed since the days of Jeremiah. These traits continue to be held in high regard, often forming the basis for self-worth or identity. Their absence can be a misguided reason for self-loathing.

In a world that grows seemingly more complex every day, where we are conditioned to view the simple with skepticism, let me suggest that our identity can be rightfully grounded in only one place.

but let him who boasts boast of this, that he understands and knows Me,

When we know and understand God we are free to boast about in that reality. Here we discover the true source of our identity; here we find true North and the bedrock for our soul. I may not possess wisdom, wealth, power or physical prowess, and yet here is an invitation to boast in something that lies in an entirely different dimension. God has fashioned me to find my true self not in the physical, intellectual or material realm, but rather in whom I know. Boasting in the temporal looks to many sources but is ultimately found to be fleeting and empty. The boasting spoken of by the prophet, and the personal identity that it reveals looks only to God. This identity is solid and unchanging because the immutable God is without beginning or end.

The obvious question is: What does it mean to know God? The Hebrew word for “know” is much more than head knowledge or even the wisdom referenced earlier in the passage. It speaks of an experiential knowing, and points us to the intimacy of marriage. This deep knowledge of God is fundamentally relational, not academic.

Yes, God clearly desires that we know Him and He does not leave this to our imagination. Speaking in the first person he describes himself.

I am the Lord who exercises lovingkindness, justice, and righteousness on earth; for I delight in these things,” declares the Lord.

The Lord defines himself by his actions. He is the One who exercises lovingkindness, justice and righteousness. Lovingkindness is an English translation for the Hebrew chesed. It speaks of God’s covenant keeping love particularly in relation to his people Israel. It is a rich word full of images that enfold us in the reality of a Father who both loves, disciplines, forgives and ultimately makes a way for all who want to find a relationship with Him. Justice and righteousness when linked speak of God’s heart for those at the margins of society. In a culture where wealth was viewed as a sign of God’s approval (again some things just don’t change), the Lord describes himself as one whose heart extends first and foremost to those who are without an advocate. I am reminded of the words of a college professor of mine who warned his student of being on the wrong side of God, for He is a defender of the widow and the orphan. Those of us who would boast that we know God must remember that God is active. He exercise his lovingkindness, justice and righteousness, certainly not grudgingly or out of some sense of moral duty; rather He delights in these things. The implications are evident for those of us who claim to know Him.

In less than seventy-five words, and a character count that could be contained in about two tweets, the text touches on purpose, identity and the character of God. Some 2,500 years after it was written, these verses speak with both profound simplicity and powerful relevance to our quest to discover and understand our own identity. In a world all too often characterized by futile searches for personal fulfillment, the words of God show us a very different way; our search ends in knowing Him. I think my parents would be okay with this kind of bragging.

Now this is eternal life: that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent. John 14:3 (NIV)

 Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

I have a few things that I do on a regular basis and one of those is reading the Psalms. In terms of a personal discipline it is probably the closest I come to doing something everyday. I characterize myself as consistently, inconsistent, but in reading the Psalms, I have edged closer to what could be termed a regular practice. It has been a richly rewarding routine and one that I anticipate will yield even more benefit in the years ahead.

As noted biblical scholar NT Wright states,

Sing these songs and they will renew you from head to toe, from heart to mind. Pray these poems and they will sustain you on the long, hard but exhilarating road of Christian discipleship. (From The Case for the Psalms). 

Consider God’s grace, mercy and forgiveness as described in Psalm 103,

as far as the east is from the west,

so far has he removed our sin from us.  Psalm 103:12

or the cry of despair expressed in Psalm 13

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?

How long will you hide your face from me?  Psalm 13:1

There are those very familiar and comforting words of Psalm 23. Less well known is the pointed challenge of Psalm 90 where the psalmist, recognizing our common mortality, calls out to God,

Teach us to number our days aright,

that we may gain a heart of wisdom.  Psalm 90:12 

The Psalms, arising from a variety of experiences, give voice to our deepest emotions. The Psalms, enlighten us about the character of God while giving us words to both praise him and to cry out in our pain and lack of understanding. The Psalms can be a place to turn for immediate comfort, but even better they are a wellspring from which to drink often. Regular time with these songs will deepen our conversation with God. Each time we come to these ancient texts we will have made space for him and only good can come from that.

Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,

that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.  Psalm 90:14 

May my prayer be set before you like incense;

may the lifting up of my hands

be like the evening sacrifice.   Psalm 141:2

 Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

Every grandparent has the smartest, cutest, funniest, most talented, grandkid in the world. I am no different. However, I possess objective evidence to prove my claim. Ellie is something else. She …

Source: Baseball, A Family Affair

I hate it when I immediately forget a person’s name right after asking them. However, I am always aware though that I did ask the question. To not realize that I had inquired as to the person’s name, now that would be truly disconcerting. I gave my son Charles reason for concern last Sunday afternoon when I suffered my first concussion. We were on a bike ride along the Columbia River here in Wenatchee, WA, when a low front tire resulted in headfirst slide along the asphalt trail. Charles assisted me to a large flat rock at the trail’s edge where I asked a couple of questions for what would be just the first of many times.

One question can be traced back to just before our ride when we viewed the end of the Giants – Diamondbacks game. San Francisco eked out a 2-1 victory with a game ending double play that required a “Replay Review” to overturn the safe call at first base. (To be honest I’m not a big fan of the whole replay thing. I can live with human error, but that’s a topic for another day). The favorable ruling meant the game was over and Arizona did not score the tying run. All was good, and I set off a happy cyclist with the Giants having won their fifth straight game.

A quick look down at my tires told me they were low but I decided this could wait. That was a bad decision. I can’t say for sure what happened but I do know that the inside of my bike helmet has a couple of cracks in that hard foam material. I also picked up some serious road rash and I began to repeatedly ask Charles a couple of questions: Did the Giants win? and How is my helmet?

I’m not sure exactly what the nature of my questioning says, except that Charles knew that this was probably not an ordinary fall. A car trip to the walk in clinic, an ambulance ride to the emergency room and visit with the doctor, confirmed that I indeed had a concussion. A subsequent CT scan revealed nothing more serious. While waiting in ER with Charles and my wife Brenda, I asked about my helmet for about the twelfth time. Finally, I became sufficiently aware to refrain from this line of questioning. This was about three hours after the event. For some reason I had been able to catalog the Giants victory as settled business after only asking that question about six times. Maybe replay review really is a good thing! Now what was that Doctor’s name?

The roof was open at Chase Field on Thursday night when the Arizona Diamondbacks hosted the San Francisco Giants, but Giants closer Santiago Casilla blew his top. Charged with protecting a two run lead in the ninth inning, Casilla recorded two outs while managing to load the bases. Left hand hitting Jake Lamb was the next batter. Lamb had torched Giant’s pitching this year, hitting almost .500. In fact he had homered off Casilla back in April to tie a game and send it into extra innings. Just the day, before Casilla had given up another ninth inning game tying home run to a left handed hitter. All that to say, this was not a difficult decision for the Giant’s skipper Bruce Bochy. He made the call to bring in left hand specialist Javier Lopez, who record retired Lamb on a ground ball to preserve the victory.

There is little need to argue the baseball wisdom of this move. You’d have to search in an alternate universe to find another take – check that – right there on the mound Santiago Casilla demonstratively registered his disagreement. As Andy Baggarly of the San Jose Mercury put it in his blog, “(Casilla) stormed off toward the dugout as Bochy approached the mound, then flapped his arms and did an about-face when Bochy snapped at him. http://tinyurl.com/gtrkz7e Baseball protocol is that when the manager pulls a pitcher, said pitcher waits for manager and hands him the ball. Facial displeasure is permitted; all other emotions are stuffed. Suffice to say that Casilla with his antics violated that code and in baseball terms “showed up” his manager.

After the game he remained unrepentant. To Bochy’s credit he did not throw gasoline on the fire. “He didn’t want to come out,” Bochy said. “You want (that) but he probably got a little too emotional.” The baseball news cycle took over. Sports talk radio had a juicy story for Friday morning and then it was over by Friday afternoon. Casilla made sure of that. “I just apologized for my outburst from yesterday,” he said through an interpreter. “It’s something that happened. I don’t know what made me do it. A lot of times you just let your emotions get the best of you. Sometimes you say things without realizing it. And then, having thought about it overnight, I realized that I have to respect my manager.”

Friday night Casilla faced the final two batters, striking out both of them to save a 3-1 win for Jeff Samardzija and the Giants. Casilla has a record he can be proud of, including a post season ERA of 0.95. Casilla the ballplayer has walked on to the field to pitch in hundreds of pressure packed games. As a man, he has done nothing more important than walking into his manager’s office on Friday. Casilla saved the game that night; he saved much more Friday afternoon.

It isn’t often that my personal baseball experience intersects with a national sports story in any significant way.  In the April 12, Washington Post, Scott Allen wrote about the 50^th anniversary of Emmett Ashford breaking baseball’s color barrier as an umpire.  Almost 20 years after Jackie Robinson played that historic game as a Brooklyn Dodger, Emmett Ashford became the first African-American to umpire a regular season MLB game.

In 1974, playing for Biola College, I was privileged to have played in a game at Pepperdine University umpired by the same Emmett Ashford. The details of the contest are not clear in my mind, but it was probably my closest connection to playing in the big leagues.  It is no wonder I recall little about the game; Biola lost 13-2.  However, I will remember Ashford as someone who having reached the pinnacle of his profession still loved the game of baseball enough to umpire a rather insignificant college game.  It took some research to find the score of that game, but the autograph I have from Emmet Ashford can still be found in one of my two boxes of baseball memorabilia.   Those boxes hold many great memories and that afternoon with Emmet Ashford calling balls and strikes will always be an important part of that rich collection.

Last Monday was the day that most of the Christmas lights came down at our house. We had long since stopped turning on the lights on the garage and front porch, however the backyard fence still was trimmed with those white lights that seem so right when there is snow on the ground and the nights still come early.

I remember hearing a radio commentary sometime ago, that given all the work it is to put up the lights, why not leave them up till Valentine’s Day. It had to do with the notion of brightening what can otherwise be a rather dreary time of year. Now I love winter and welcome every snowstorm. Winter is my favorite season so I don’t feel any real need to counter its negative press. Yet for me, the lights of the Christmas season do indeed have a place beyond Christmas, New Year’s Day and even past Epiphany. They are a gift to all who look upon them and a reminder that light does indeed dispel darkness. They speak of the coming spring and their twinkle adds another kind of lightness to the night.

Even though I subscribe to a longer than traditional lighting season, I don’t always make it all the way to Valentine’s Day. When the weather for whatever reason does not make for a good ski day, I might take advantage of the opportunity to pack the lights away for another year. This year two of my neighbors kept turning their lights on – so what I could do but reciprocate. However, as I write this, my neighbor who lies to the east has only a porch light burning and today’s weather and my schedule conspired to make clear that this was the day to at least start the task. All of the lights, cords and timers, save those on the backyard fence are now in boxes ready to be stowed away in the garage attic.

As I carried a couple of extension cords into the garage, I noticed that the Elliots, my neighbors to the north, must not have heard that same radio commentary about Valentine’s Day being the outer limit for Christmas lights. Their colored lights burn bright and the icicle lights sparkle. Good for them! In fact if they want to continue to illuminate this corner of Wenatchee I’ll enjoy for as longs as they shine.  And come next November or early December, notwithstanding what I told my wife, I will dutifully set about my seasonal task.   Don’t tell her that I enjoy the finished product almost as much as she does.

I am well into the season of life when my baseball heroes now make headlines with their deaths rather than their heroics.  The marvels of modern communication had my niece texting me with the news of Ernie Banks passing even before I received my New York Times News Alert email.  I must have told Jennifer about my encounter with Ernie Banks.  All told it didn’t last even an hour, but it was vintage Ernie Banks if you know what I’m talking about.

There is no need to establish that Ernie Banks was an outstanding ball player, first as a shortstop and then at first base.  His induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame is sufficient to underscore all that has been written about his exploits on the diamond.  The best things to be said about Banks upon his passing have focused on the man.  His reputation was well established even in his playing days.  Willie Mays said just this week in speaking about Ernie, “He was just a nice man to be around and if you were around him you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

I was born in 1954, the year after Ernie Banks began his 19 year career with the Chicago Cubs.  Although I was too young to remember his best years which included two MVP awards, nonetheless during my early years as a baseball fan, Ernie was the Chicago Cubs.  That never changed even after his retirement and he will continue to be known as Mr. Cub. But it is one thing when a sports celebrity maintains a certain persona when he is in the spotlight, or when he is speaking with the media.  It is quite another when that same person interacts with a 22 year old college kid and the reputation ends up matching and even exceeding what had been written before and after.

My Ernie Banks story started at a baseball “clinic” held at the University of Southern California baseball stadium.  Ernie was in town for the baseball winter meetings and he was on the program – to talk about first base play if memory serves me right.  There was something about him even as he addressed the crowd of players and coaches; it must have been an air of approachability that prompted me to track him down after his presentation.  I had a reason to talk with Ernie Banks – this was not about snagging an autograph.  I had a product that I thought perhaps could be marketed at big league ball parks and I wanted to ask Ernie what he thought and how we should proceed.  Let me back up though…

I was carrying a baseball bat comb which was a small bat shaped piece of wood that had been cut and turned by a Southern Californian furniture manufacturer.  In the twelve inch long bat was a slit, into which a comb was inserted.  Voila! The baseball bat comb.  I had obtained a $300 personal loan to fund this project from the financial aid office of Biola College where I attended.  The purpose was to sell the bat combs and raise money for a ministry to kids who lived in a housing project in Los Angeles, actually not too far from the campus of USC. So after a brief introduction, I made a quick pivot and told Banks about the baseball bat comb.  I had one with me and I asked for his advise.

This is where it got really interesting at least for this baseball fan who was now engaged in a real conversation with a soon to be hall of famer.  Now I had been close to ball players before.  As a kid growing up near San Francisco, I had gone to the airport a couple of times to meet the Giants after a road trip.  I asked and received some autographs.  This was really quite different – because the next thing I knew, Ernie Banks was telling me that I needed to talk to Joe Podesta, head of marketing for Major League Baseball and he would introduce me to him, but first he needed a ride back to the Wilshire Hilton in downtown LA where the major league baseball’s winter meetings were being held.  I did not miss a beat.  I told him I would get a car.  Only one problem – I didn’t have a car.  I had caught a ride to the event with my college baseball coach, Charlie Sarver.  I raced back to our group, told Coach Sarver that I needed to borrow his car so I could give Ernie Banks a ride.  I don’t remember him asking any questions and now with the keys in hand I sprinted back over to where I had left Ernie, undoubtedly concerned that he might have gotten another ride.  He hadn’t and we were off along with Harry “The Hat” Walker (another former player and manager) headed for the Hilton.

I don’t remember a lot about the short ride, although I do remember there was conversation.  I have no idea where we parked but I do remember very clearly the next ten minutes or so. We walked into the very large lobby of the hotel and it was like the sun had come out from behind a dark cloud, as if all the lights from Dodger Stadium had been brought in.  You see, when Ernie Banks walked into that room, and it was no small room, he lit up the place.  It was like a brilliant sunny day at Chicago’s Wrigley Field where he had done the same thing for nineteen years.  I have never witnessed anything like it before or since.  Calls of, “Hey Ernie” hand shakes, smiles were in abundance.  It was like the President of the United States had entered, but without the trappings of power and prestige.  He attracted the kind of riveting attention that pulsated with enthusiasm, joy and genuine good will.  Ernie Banks was there and the party could begin.  I trailed along behind yet he never forgot about me.  How easy that would have been to do.  It felt like we glided across the lobby and up to a mezzanine level where Major League Baseball, (I don’t think they referred to it as MLB back then) had set up their office.  Things were much less formal than now with just some desks up against the wall in a corner.  Ernie asked where Joe Podesta was and we were told that he was out.  He didn’t let it drop there – he introduced me to Monte Irvin who was the assistant to the Commissioner.  As a Giant fan, I was well aware of Monte Irvin, who played along side Willie Mays on those great Giant teams of 1951 and 1954.  Monte Irvin was an equally gracious man who took my information and said he would have Mr. Posdesta give me a call.  I thanked Ernie Banks and our time together ended.  I thought it was all over – I really didn’t think I would hear from Podesta but I did.  I’m sure that was due in no small part to the fact that Ernie Banks and Monte Irvin had been involved.  The story would be of fairy tale proportions if I told you that MLB bought the rights to the bat comb.  That was not to be.  Podesta explained to me in some detail why our concept would not work at the major league level, but he was very polite and respected the idea.

So there are still a few baseball bat combs floating around.  About a year ago I had a reunion of sorts with one of the kids from the housing project.  And when I heard about the death of Ernie Banks on Friday, January 23 my mind went back to 1977 when I met a man who was the real thing.  Ernie Banks was everything and more that I had have ever heard about him.  I asked him for a favor, he asked me for a ride and for thirty or forty minutes he took me on a journey through his world that will live on forever as one of my fondest memories.  Yes Willie Mays, I know exactly what you’re talking about.  He was a very nice man to be around.