Famous

When I was 7 or 8 years old, my sisters and I were in Davis-Kidd Bookstore in Nashville, shopping with a couple who were friends of my parents. A woman approached us and asked the couple our ages and commented on our general cuteness. Although the woman might have seemed like any ordinary Nashville-area resident out running errands, I recognized her voice instantly. Even without her trademark straw hat topped with fake flowers and $1.98 price tag dangling to the side, I had watched enough episodes of Hee Haw to know it was Minnie Pearl.

 

I have a hard time imagining what it would be like to be famous. To be recognized by people everywhere I went. To be mobbed by fans and photographers. To have the ability to give people a lasting memory and a treasured anecdote to impress friends and strangers just by being in the same room with them and acknowledging their existence in the universe. No wonder so many are drawn to the pursuit of fame, especially considering that at our very core, one of the most basic human desires is to be known.

 

Even though Jesus’ friends had the ultimate example of humility standing in front of them, they weren’t exempt from this clamor for fame. They even argued about it, speculating who would be the greatest in the kingdom and right on the heels of Jesus’ exclamation about his imminent death.

 

Jesus’ reply to their earthly ideas about fame was to bring a child to set in front of them. Then He said something that stopped their quarreling while also no doubt giving them a riddle to puzzle out during future fireside moments of quiet contemplation. “Anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me also welcomes my Father who sent me. Whoever is the least among you is the greatest.” -Luke 9:48 (NLT)

 

What did they think about this seemingly backwards path to greatness? How could accepting a lowly child give you access to the Prince of Peace and the Mighty King of the Universe? But Jesus was the master of these mind-blowing assertions about righteous living. He wanted them to understand the vanity of their kind of greatness. He wanted them to take a giant bite of the Humble Pie he had sliced up for them. It was as if He was saying, “Stop looking for ways to step on each other as you climb to the top. Instead, look down and notice these little children. Giving them your attention won’t make you world famous, but these actions will gain you fame in heaven.”

 

So strive to be famous—famously kind, famously generous, famously brave. Win awards for being the best listener, the most thoughtful, the truest friend. Hold the Box Office record for the highest-grossing number of encouraging words. Make the Fortune 500 list for the richest, most genuine friendships.

 

Paparazzi may not camp out in your front yard, waiting to take photos of you as you pick up your newspaper dressed in your bathrobe, but you will be on the real path to greatness.

Tunneling back

Since November 9, 2019 marks the 30thanniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, this moment in history has reappeared for a little while in the news. I was a teenager when it came down, but I realize now that I knew very little about this wall. I knew it was symbolic of the horrors of Communist Soviet Union and that President Ronald Reagan famously said, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall,” in a speech he made outside the Brandenburg Gate and a boy who liked my older sister gave her a chunk of stone that was supposed to be from the actual wall to somehow get her to go out with him. (It didn’t work.)

 

I didn’t know that the wall went up in 1961. I assumed it was constructed just after the end of World War 2, when Germany was divided by the conquering nations—Soviets getting the eastern half and America, Britain and France ruling the western half. But the wall was a result of a slow simmering pot of dissatisfaction with the lack of freedom in the east and a controlling dictatorship. The Soviets didn’t like that so many people were leaving their side. Once the wall went up, that pot of unhappiness and misery had to build in intensity until the people could no longer abide the cruelty it enforced.

 

I have been listening to an interesting BBC Radio podcast called “Tunnel 29” about a group of people who worked to help others escape from East Germany into West Germany. There are heartbreaking stories about families and friends being separated first by barbed wire, then thick concrete walls, trenches and land mines. The wall was heavily guarded and the East German Police employed spies to find those who might want to defect. The people were desperate to get out.

 

The podcast focuses on one German man in particular named Joachim. He escaped from East Germany and was soon approached by a team of people wanting to dig tunnels under the wall. Joachim was an engineering student, so devising methods for removing dirt and pumping in fresh air and constructing scaffolding was his expertise.

 

Without revealing the many plot twists and perilous moments in Joachim’s story, one of the most astonishing realizations I made while listening to the podcast is the group’s dedication to the rescue mission. When Joachim escaped, he took risks, but this was to save himself. He was willing to do whatever it took to get out of East Germany or die trying. The tunnel diggers jeopardized their own freedom and possibly their lives, but from the position of safety. They were in West Germany. They were safe. Many of the other diggers were also escapees. They knew what was waiting for them on the east side of the concrete wall, and yet they started digging…digging toward danger.

 

This mentality may explain why so many social workers were once foster kids. And some medical professionals spent a lot of their childhoods in pediatric hospitals. And sometimes police officers grew up in homes where abuse was common. And the best caretakers to dying loved ones are cancer survivors. So often and contrary to human logic, the people who escape danger are the ones who are more likely to turn around and start digging in the direction of those who need rescuing.

Soccer practice

Like a lot of parents, I spend quite a bit of time driving to, sitting during and driving home from ball practice. I could try to figure out how many hours are spent in this way, but that would be depressing, like when my twin daughters were newborns and I calculated how many diapers I bought their first year. And, anyway, I’m not much into numbers. I’m more of a words person. Sentences are how I quantify and qualify my daily activities. Words are how I decide if the outcome is worth the expense of my time.

 

I believe in practicing something over and over to get better at it. I believe that mastering a skill doesn’t happen overnight. I believe that learning how to work as a team takes time. I believe that hard work builds character. I believe that a coach or teacher or leader deserves respect and that is strengthened through face-to-face interactions. So, in other words, I believe that practice is a good thing.

 

But there are those times…when it’s rainy and dark and I’m hungry and really behind on laundry, and I see the email that practice is cancelled. Ahhhh! Those three beautiful words: Practice is cancelled. I rejoice because I’d rather be home from the hours of 5:00-9:00 pm. I would love to be in my pajamas in front of the television, instead of sitting in my van and checking the clock to see how long I have until I can drive home.

 

And practice is just a part of being a sports mom. There are also games and the preparation involved in going to these games. You have to be sure all of the equipment and uniforms are accounted for, but sometimes the planning fails me. For instance, last year my son had a game 45 minutes away from home. It was 81 degrees at my house, but at the fields we found 22-mph winds and the temperature dropped 20 degrees. Wearing shorts was not the best choice after all. I made myself into a ball—pulling my knees inside my shirt and wrapping my arms around my legs. I may have also turtled my chin and nose inside the collar of my shirt. Yay soccer!

 

I don’t tell my kids the unpleasant truth concerning how I feel about driving them around, because this would make them feel like a burden. Though kids are a burden in the very literal sense—something to carry, a responsibility, an obligation—my four are loads I gladly shoulder. Precious inconveniences. Treasured encumbrances. Cherished disruptions.

 

Running them to practices and sleep-overs and school and doctor’s appointments can get hectic, but what better way to show them how much I care. Do they always appreciate it? No, of course not! Did you appreciate your parents for all they did for you? I doubt it!

 

But I’m grateful for the opportunities to serve them, and let’s face it, you don’t get into the Motherhood Business for the awards and the shout-outs. Even that one special day devoted to us, Mother’s Day, can be a letdown. Serving without any expectations for praise and gratitude seems almost superhuman, but it’s the definition of humility. I’m not always great at it, but I’m trying and being a mom gives me lots of opportunities to hone my humility skills. And you know what they say: “Practice makes perfect!”