I raised my flag straight up in the air signaling the ball as 'out'. Then I looked up at my dad and watched him mouth the words "bad call" as he signals the ball as 'in'. It was my first call of my first game. I was a line judge for a division 2 college volleyball game and my dad was the R1 or up referee.
He overruled me. Great. Just great.
I tried to replay the ball's landing in my head but I saw nothing. Only blackness. That's when I realized I had blinked at precisely the wrong time. My job was to see the ball land but all I had seen were the back of my eyelids. not good. Can I leave now? Nope! There's a lot of volleyball left to be played and it's my job to stay. To persevere through the nervousness, fear, and embarrassment. To stay and keep my eyes open. I learned the art of timely blinking that night. Blink when the ball is in the air. Not, I repeat, not when the ball is landing! That first game was in the Fall of 2007.
Over the past 5 years I've learned much more than a perfectly timed blink. I've learned the art of acting like I not only know what I'm doing, but I;m right about my calls. A flag raised too slowly, or worse not at all, is a disheartening act that drains all your credibility right out of you. In the eyes of everyone in the gym, you may as well not even be standing there. You're either right or completely incompetent. There is no middle ground.
Portray some empathy but do not show weakness. They can smell it like a dirty diaper. Even if you change they never look at you the same. They just make faces and shutter at the memory of the smell.
The most important lesson I've learned while calling lines is not the art of blinking or the portrayal of confidence but the importance of remaining humble. Make an amazing call, keep my eyes open, wave my flag, see what everyone else missed, do a near perfect job and then...the ball is served again. You can't sit down or graciously leave the court on a high note. "Thank you! You've been a beautiful audience!" You can't leave them wanting more. No, you must stay to the very end and be ready for the next ball to land or hit the antenna or the blockers hand or me or...you get the idea. There's so much to keep your eyes open for.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
A thank you note to my grandma
Dear Grandma,
I'm celebrating my birthday by writing thank you notes to people who I appreciate in my life. You went to heaven on Oct. 14 at 5:15 am. In earthly time it's been 2 weeks. You talked about heaven on a daily basis and have longed to be there for so many years. When Grandpa died your longing only deepened and grew stronger. You experienced pain in your life on a level I never fully understood but you always knew that true healing would come in heaven. How does it feel? You are whole for the first time and you are walking and talking with Jesus. It's more than I can fathom.
I am so grateful for the support you've always given me. When I was growing up you and Grandpa came to almost all of my volleyball games, choir concerts, church programs, and performances of any kind. I didn't think my games could officially start without you and grandpa in the sitting up in the stands. You were unpredictable in many ways but I knew I could always depend on you showing up in my life.
Thank you most of all for my dad. He is the best kind of man. He makes my world make sense.
I love you Grandma.
love, beth
I'm celebrating my birthday by writing thank you notes to people who I appreciate in my life. You went to heaven on Oct. 14 at 5:15 am. In earthly time it's been 2 weeks. You talked about heaven on a daily basis and have longed to be there for so many years. When Grandpa died your longing only deepened and grew stronger. You experienced pain in your life on a level I never fully understood but you always knew that true healing would come in heaven. How does it feel? You are whole for the first time and you are walking and talking with Jesus. It's more than I can fathom.
I am so grateful for the support you've always given me. When I was growing up you and Grandpa came to almost all of my volleyball games, choir concerts, church programs, and performances of any kind. I didn't think my games could officially start without you and grandpa in the sitting up in the stands. You were unpredictable in many ways but I knew I could always depend on you showing up in my life.
Thank you most of all for my dad. He is the best kind of man. He makes my world make sense.
I love you Grandma.
love, beth
Monday, October 1, 2012
A month of gratitude...31 days, that's it ;)
On my 25th birthday I went on a cruise with three of my closest friends. When I turned 30 I went on a hot air balloon ride with 4 of my closest friends. I went crazy for my 31st by inviting 10 friends to ride go carts and play arcade games with me at Boomer's Family Entertainment Center. When I figure out how to put pictures on here, I'm totally gonna do it. :)
Last year I celebrated by getting a tattoo. It was the words from Proverbs "His love endures forever". I wanted the words to be in the shape of an infinity sign. Having no idea how to make that happen, I enlisted the help of my friend Brian Foster. He used his artist talent and fancy graphic design program to create a piece of art that is now imprinted on my left foot. Sitting in a chair in the tattoo parlor sitting amongst posters of mostly naked women while getting a verse with deep spiritual and personal significance tattooed on me made for a very memorable 32nd birthday.
As I said in my last post, I will be 33 soon. And it hit me a couple of months ago that Jesus was 33 when He died and rose again. I think about all the experiences He had on earth leading up to those moments that changed eternity. And then I think about my life and all of the people God has used to bring me closer to Him and to this point in life. I think of myself partly because His life is more than I can fathom and partly because I'm selfish. None the less these musings have given me my adventure for this birthday.
I'm going to write and send thank you notes to as many people as I possibly can. Some notes will be hand written and mailed and others will be emailed. They will all be from me in celebration of how grateful I am for my life and yours.
So, just in case my hand cramps up or I run out of ink, paper, stamps, or time, thank you all for loving me, inspiring me, and empowering me to live the life God has given me. And thanks for encouraging me to do crazy things like go on cruises and hot air balloon rides and get tattoos. :)
Last year I celebrated by getting a tattoo. It was the words from Proverbs "His love endures forever". I wanted the words to be in the shape of an infinity sign. Having no idea how to make that happen, I enlisted the help of my friend Brian Foster. He used his artist talent and fancy graphic design program to create a piece of art that is now imprinted on my left foot. Sitting in a chair in the tattoo parlor sitting amongst posters of mostly naked women while getting a verse with deep spiritual and personal significance tattooed on me made for a very memorable 32nd birthday.
As I said in my last post, I will be 33 soon. And it hit me a couple of months ago that Jesus was 33 when He died and rose again. I think about all the experiences He had on earth leading up to those moments that changed eternity. And then I think about my life and all of the people God has used to bring me closer to Him and to this point in life. I think of myself partly because His life is more than I can fathom and partly because I'm selfish. None the less these musings have given me my adventure for this birthday.
I'm going to write and send thank you notes to as many people as I possibly can. Some notes will be hand written and mailed and others will be emailed. They will all be from me in celebration of how grateful I am for my life and yours.
So, just in case my hand cramps up or I run out of ink, paper, stamps, or time, thank you all for loving me, inspiring me, and empowering me to live the life God has given me. And thanks for encouraging me to do crazy things like go on cruises and hot air balloon rides and get tattoos. :)
Sunday, September 30, 2012
33
He was 33 years old when He made the triumphal entry. 33 when he saw what was before Him and cried drops of blood. 33 when He was betrayed by His closest friends. 33 when He was accused of awful crimes against powerful, hateful, jealous, scared people just like us.
33 when He was arrested for no reason and was never released.
33 when He stood in front of Pilot (who could have let him go) and did not say a word in His own defense. 33 when He was flogged to the brink of death, mocked, ridiculed, bullied beyond belief, and His existence seen as the world's biggest threat.
He is love. He is patience. He is kindness.
He keeps no record of wrongs.
He was 33 when He was put on a cross to die a slow, excruciatingly painful death in front of His own mother. 33 when He comforted the men dying on either side of Him. 33 when He made provisions for His mother's care upon His death. 33 when He took the sins of the world He created on His shoulders. 33 when He knew it was finished.
And 33 when He rose from the grave having defeated Satan and conquered death to unite us with Him. 33 when He changed the world and all of eternity forever.
I have always thought that 33 sounded old...until now. On October 31 I will turned 33.
A new wave a gratitude has crashed over me.
33 when He was arrested for no reason and was never released.
33 when He stood in front of Pilot (who could have let him go) and did not say a word in His own defense. 33 when He was flogged to the brink of death, mocked, ridiculed, bullied beyond belief, and His existence seen as the world's biggest threat.
He is love. He is patience. He is kindness.
He keeps no record of wrongs.
He was 33 when He was put on a cross to die a slow, excruciatingly painful death in front of His own mother. 33 when He comforted the men dying on either side of Him. 33 when He made provisions for His mother's care upon His death. 33 when He took the sins of the world He created on His shoulders. 33 when He knew it was finished.
And 33 when He rose from the grave having defeated Satan and conquered death to unite us with Him. 33 when He changed the world and all of eternity forever.
I have always thought that 33 sounded old...until now. On October 31 I will turned 33.
A new wave a gratitude has crashed over me.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Welcome to Holland
This post is my reflection on an article written by Emily Kinsley in 1990. My writings cover the five stages of grief.
Welcome to Holland
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability—to try and help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It’s like this.
When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip—to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum, Michelangelo’s David, the gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.”
“Holland?!?!” you say. “What do you mean Holland? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.” But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guidebooks, and you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a while new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around, and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy going to and from Italy, and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.” The pain of that will never every go away, because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss. But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.
Kinsley, Emily P., from the Rocky Mountain News, October 29, 1990.
No
I don’t want to go to f***ing Holland. It’s not where I’ve been saving my money to visit. It’s not the place I pictured and it’s not where my hopes and dreams live. It smells funny there. People wear fake smiles. They are overly friendly in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable and suspicious.
I don’t know how to talk to the people there. I try to be polite and the message doesn’t seem to get through. I yell and they get this look of confusion and anger mixed with hurt. The message still doesn’t seem to be understood. Why does it feel like I’m the only one that is being forced to change? The tulips are pretty but everything else is ugly and scary. Will I ever feel differently???
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: anger, September 12, 2012.
Layover
This stop is just a layover. We’ll be out of Holland and back on course to Italy soon. It’s just gonna take a little more effort that I originally thought. I’ll have to get a team together so they can explain my options.
These maps I have may not work for my new situation but, if I look hard enough, I’m sure I’ll be able to find the map I need. I’m not sure what language they speak in Holland but I’m still going to teach my child Italian because that’s the language he will need to know to be independent in Italy. We can stay in Holland for the first couple of years and then we will move. I’ll invite some Italian families over to play so the transition will be easier. Holland has its beauty and charm but Italy is where we are supposed to be.
I’m told by the airlines that they can’t fly us to Italy. We will see about that…
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: denial, September 17, 2012.
Hmm…
Holland is where I live now. It’s lonely here. I’m never quite sure how we will make it through each day but somehow we manage. I try to look at the positive side of things. It’s true that it’s less crowded here and the pace of life is different than it looks like in Italy. It’s hard for me to feel connected and at home in Holland. I don’t want to feel this aversion to the people here but I can’t seem to shake it.
The tulips have died. The windmills have stilled. And the Rembrandts are few and far between.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: depression, September 18, 2012.
The Plan
Holland is so much more beautiful than I thought it when I first arrived. I’m starting to learn the language and haven’t gotten lost in two days! I’m putting all my energy in to making the most of my time in Holland. Every day presents new challenges but I’m facing them one at a time and keep thinking “this too shall pass”.
I haven’t told my family or friends where I am. All I said was that I arrived safely and I just let them assume I’m in Italy. They are asking if they can visit. Maybe if I show them the tulips, they won’t notice the lack of pizza. I’ll put up some Da Vinci’s and maybe order one of those statues of David. My location can be my secret burden to bear. Everything will be fine once we get through these first few years.
Maybe if I forgive the airlines for bringing me here, they will reconsider and let me go to Italy. Then I can share with people the amazing lessons I’ve learned while in Holland.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: bargaining, September 24, 2012.
Part of Me
Holland is part of me now. It is the very best and the very worst part of me. I’m in love with this place that was once so foreign and scary. Now that I feel more comfortable and familiar with Holland, the eyes of my heart have been opened and I see differently. I am able to appreciate, and sometimes even celebrate, accomplishments I was blind to before I got here.
The depths of my sorrow may have deepened but the weight of it has lightened. I find myself smiling and laughing on a regular basis. I can even make fun of Holland and it’s silly tulips now. It’s not offensive anymore. It’s where I belong and I have become protective of it.
When people come to visit they are usually uncertain and most fumble through clichés and well-intended advice for the first few days. I feel offended but then I recognize myself in them and realize how much Holland has taught me. I’m never quite sure how to explain or express what I’ve learned but last night there was a windmill in my dream.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: acceptance, September 26, 2012.
Welcome to Holland
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability—to try and help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It’s like this.
When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip—to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum, Michelangelo’s David, the gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.”
“Holland?!?!” you say. “What do you mean Holland? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.” But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guidebooks, and you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a while new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around, and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy going to and from Italy, and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.” The pain of that will never every go away, because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss. But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.
Kinsley, Emily P., from the Rocky Mountain News, October 29, 1990.
No
I don’t want to go to f***ing Holland. It’s not where I’ve been saving my money to visit. It’s not the place I pictured and it’s not where my hopes and dreams live. It smells funny there. People wear fake smiles. They are overly friendly in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable and suspicious.
I don’t know how to talk to the people there. I try to be polite and the message doesn’t seem to get through. I yell and they get this look of confusion and anger mixed with hurt. The message still doesn’t seem to be understood. Why does it feel like I’m the only one that is being forced to change? The tulips are pretty but everything else is ugly and scary. Will I ever feel differently???
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: anger, September 12, 2012.
Layover
This stop is just a layover. We’ll be out of Holland and back on course to Italy soon. It’s just gonna take a little more effort that I originally thought. I’ll have to get a team together so they can explain my options.
These maps I have may not work for my new situation but, if I look hard enough, I’m sure I’ll be able to find the map I need. I’m not sure what language they speak in Holland but I’m still going to teach my child Italian because that’s the language he will need to know to be independent in Italy. We can stay in Holland for the first couple of years and then we will move. I’ll invite some Italian families over to play so the transition will be easier. Holland has its beauty and charm but Italy is where we are supposed to be.
I’m told by the airlines that they can’t fly us to Italy. We will see about that…
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: denial, September 17, 2012.
Hmm…
Holland is where I live now. It’s lonely here. I’m never quite sure how we will make it through each day but somehow we manage. I try to look at the positive side of things. It’s true that it’s less crowded here and the pace of life is different than it looks like in Italy. It’s hard for me to feel connected and at home in Holland. I don’t want to feel this aversion to the people here but I can’t seem to shake it.
The tulips have died. The windmills have stilled. And the Rembrandts are few and far between.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: depression, September 18, 2012.
The Plan
Holland is so much more beautiful than I thought it when I first arrived. I’m starting to learn the language and haven’t gotten lost in two days! I’m putting all my energy in to making the most of my time in Holland. Every day presents new challenges but I’m facing them one at a time and keep thinking “this too shall pass”.
I haven’t told my family or friends where I am. All I said was that I arrived safely and I just let them assume I’m in Italy. They are asking if they can visit. Maybe if I show them the tulips, they won’t notice the lack of pizza. I’ll put up some Da Vinci’s and maybe order one of those statues of David. My location can be my secret burden to bear. Everything will be fine once we get through these first few years.
Maybe if I forgive the airlines for bringing me here, they will reconsider and let me go to Italy. Then I can share with people the amazing lessons I’ve learned while in Holland.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: bargaining, September 24, 2012.
Part of Me
Holland is part of me now. It is the very best and the very worst part of me. I’m in love with this place that was once so foreign and scary. Now that I feel more comfortable and familiar with Holland, the eyes of my heart have been opened and I see differently. I am able to appreciate, and sometimes even celebrate, accomplishments I was blind to before I got here.
The depths of my sorrow may have deepened but the weight of it has lightened. I find myself smiling and laughing on a regular basis. I can even make fun of Holland and it’s silly tulips now. It’s not offensive anymore. It’s where I belong and I have become protective of it.
When people come to visit they are usually uncertain and most fumble through clichés and well-intended advice for the first few days. I feel offended but then I recognize myself in them and realize how much Holland has taught me. I’m never quite sure how to explain or express what I’ve learned but last night there was a windmill in my dream.
Warkentin, Beth L., Holland series: acceptance, September 26, 2012.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Here I go...
In the past I've felt like I needed to have a family in order to have something to share on a blog. Turns out all I need are thoughts and opinions. So here I go...watch out!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)