An Authentic Swing

Last night found me in shockingly unusual circumstances: I was home alone on a Friday night. With my immediate family split between a campout a couple counties to the east and a high school football game a couple counties to the west, I performed a few domestic duties, made a sandwich, and marveled at the emptiness of the house.

Not one to simply let the opportunity pass, I popped in a movie I've owned for years but never bothered to actually watch: The Legend of Bagger Vance. I found it to be a nice little piece of storytelling, a somewhat metaphysical hero's tale involving the main character's search to rediscover himself following the trauma of war. With help from a mysterious, almost spiritual guide, our lost hero recovers something of himself as he rises to the challenge of the great game of golf. It is an interesting metaphor, given that the game is indeed really not so much a competition between golfers, but a battle between the golfer and the elements, the golfer and himself. Indeed, our greatest battles are often engaged with that most unsuspecting of adversaries: our own doubt.

The key theme of the movie is captured in this one quote:

Inside each and every one of us is one true authentic swing... Somethin' we was born with... Somethin' that's ours and ours alone... Somethin' that can't be taught to ya or learned... Somethin' that got to be remembered... Over time the world can, rob us of that swing... It gets buried inside us under all our wouldas and couldas and shouldas... Some folk even forget what their swing was like...

One true authentic swing. I don't really like the word formulation on this idea, although its meaning is relatively clear. It just doesn't roll off the tongue well. But as I'm unable to restate it more musically without losing the original context of the quote, I'll work with it. There is a Richard Bach quality to the concept, and honestly I am wrestling with how true the idea really is. I do believe that each of one of us is uniquely designed and gifted, created to fulfill a purpose in this life, even unto something far greater than ourselves. Yet I also think we are easily misled into believing that this great destiny is merely limited to the view of man - the idea that this greatness requires the esteem of others. For the believer, we are taught that our identity is found in Christ, and that it is through Him that our true selves can be more fully known. But it is also true that we can lose sight of ourselves rather easily, as "over time the world can rob us" of our sense of self, and who we are "gets buried under all our woulda and couldas and shouldas". We can indeed forget ourselves.

I confess that I don't know if I have that "one true authentic swing". I am unsure I would recognize it if I had it. I think I know what I'd want it to be, but I imagine I could waste a great deal of life chasing after it, like the wind. This does not mean I should not continue to pursue the prize, mind you, nor should I neglect to discern my proper disposition. It simply means that self-fulfillment is not the highest calling. There are greater things, and fulfillment comes more readily when our aim is not constrained by our never-ending need for validation.

Perhaps it is in that understanding, in that nugget of wisdom, that our "authentic swing" may actually be found.

Remember the Fear

You know what today is, and you know why we pause to remember the events that took place that day, now thirteen years ago. As is my wont, I am spending some time (as circumstances allow) on Youtube reviewing the archives of "as it happened" video from the major networks, as well as documentaries produced a few years afterwards.

Not everyone chooses to remember this way, and sadly, I've seen some evidence from some who would prefer not to remember at all. But I do, and for me, remembering the shock, remembering the disbelief, and remembering the fear are essential elements to my remembrance.

I know it seems strange to say "remember the fear." Many of you will take issue with the suggestion. I do not look to live in fear, but I do think there is some value in remembering the fear of that day. Hindsight has revealed so much that has both informed and clouded our memories, not the least of which is the long and enduring wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the rebirth of violent Islamism in the form of ISIS that is wreaking havoc in the vacuum left by our withdrawal from the Middle East.

The memory of fear serves as a motivation and a warning that, of all the things we should ask and expect our Government to do, it should "provide for the common defense." Politicians, bureaucrats, and citizens will ever battle over where the lines are to be drawn, and the prices to be paid, for that defense, but to ignore the fact that the threat remains may be fatal in more ways than one.

September 11, 2001 in many ways united us as a nation, for a time. The next verified terrorist attack on our homeland may very well ignite another battle that will shake the republic in ways we are loathe to imagine. Why? Because in the aftermath, the thirst for vengeance will lead many to blame not only on the perpetrators of the act, but those in power who failed to heed the warnings, allowing the act to take place. You think we are polarized now? Which ever party holds power in the next attack will bear the brunt of public anger.

I hope I am wrong. I deeply hope I am wrong. But I can't help but to feel the nation is a tinderbox.

So yes, I choose to remember the fear, even as I commit myself not to live in fear or to let even the memory of fear consume me. Remembering the fear with a certain detachment sobers the mind, and perhaps clears our vision, allowing us to see the world as it is.

We must cherish the liberty we have, and we must ensure that power remains in the hands of the citizenry. But those tasks we delegate to government, particularly the responsibility to provide for the common defense, we must also demand that such be taken seriously, and demand from the government the protection of our national interests. Otherwise, liberty will be compromised and fear will truly take hold.

These are dangerous times. But our God in Heaven remains sovereign. May God bless each of you.

Running Ahead

I have had a difficult year maintaining a regular running routine. Many reasons, and all of them excuses. I've completed two races this year, a 5K and my first ever 10K, but each was followed by a self-disciplinary drop-off.

A new and surprising motivation has recently come into play. My older son is working on his Personal Fitness merit badge for Scouts, which involves a 12-week self-training program designed to increase strength, flexibility, and endurance. A part of his regimen is setting a benchmark and improving his time on a 1-mile run. So for the last few weeks, once a week, I've taken him out for the simple run at a local track.

The first time out, I had him keep pace with me. I am not a fast runner by any stretch of the imagination, but I can run more than a mile without walking. Trying to pass on my little bit of wisdom, I encouraged him to first try a pace that would increase the possibility of making the distance at a steady run, without walking. Going on 15 years old, he is lanky and lean, and easily completed the run with energy to spare. Running side by side with my son, even that one time, is a memory I will treasure.

The next few runs, however, I turned him loose, advising him to set his own pace, and not worry about running ahead of me. (I am not built for speed, and I am far more interested in simply being in good enough shape to go the distance, even if I can't run it all, or run fast. For me, it is about staying healthy and keeping the weight off). And so he did. And today, he hit his mile in 9:11, whereas I came in at 10:46.

While some dads might have a hard time with something like this, I couldn't be prouder. Watching him pull ahead of me, I got to thinking about how short a time there is left before he truly starts his own journey of discovery. The time I have left with him under my roof is dwindling rapidly. Yet there he went, racing a quarter of a lap, then half a lap ahead. Exceeding, excelling, exhilarating. When he began a cool down, I caught up, and we began to talk about how next time out, we'd go farther, and maybe even plan on running a 5K together later this year. It wouldn't matter to me if he left me way behind, just the thought of running a race together did this old man some good.

Both of my children, in time, will be running ahead of me. And that is more than okay, as long as they are passionate about what they do, and are pursuing goals that are worthy and honorable, in line with their gifts and talents. They may not always, but I will maintain the hope that they find the joy in discipline, the joy in being, and the joy in living.

They will run ahead, and behind them will be me, huffing and puffing and smiling, encouraging them all the way.