The Smile of a Teenager

This Thursday my daughter leaves for Harvest, Alabama. Maybe some of you know that Harvest was one of the towns in Alabama that was devastated by tornadoes, killing hundreds, uprooting homes and totally destroying people's lives as they knew it. I don't even remember where I was or what I was doing when the tornadoes hit. I may have been arguing with my wife. Perhaps I was napping, or playing on the computer instead of spending time with my son. Maybe I was complaining about the rain in our own area. All this I take for granted. My daughter will be going to try and make sense of what happened there, her and about 60 kids from her church and high school. Kids of different faiths, personalities and goals. I cannot be more proud of her.

The last few days I haven't been the best dad to her. I've been short tempered, jealous somewhat, perhaps even envious. I've been stingy with my time but unhinging in my attempt to get more time out of her. There's nothing really anything that Lisa ever does wrong. She loves others more that herself, she radiates kindness and I'm sure that her friends would attest that they are the only ones in the room when they are in the room with Lisa. She loves the way kids should nowadays. She's not the norm.

Back when we first opened our home to her (it was truly the other way around!), we heard so many horror stories of foster kids. We heard about teenage runaways, kids who would wipe feces on the bathroom walls, kids who failed in school (and if anyone knows anything about schools nowadays, no one ever truly fails unless they really want to).

Lisa never exhibited any of those problems or behaviors. She only cried when she had to go to bed when everyone else was awake, and the only B she ever had in elementary was changed on a technicality. She shaved her legs once before Delcina could show her how. Other times she seemed to have her favorite parent once every other week. She argues in semantics. Stubborn, but not unruly. Maybe afraid to share her feelings until she's ready.

About four years ago, we began going to Reynoldsburg United Methodist Church. Del and I had not been church goers before we had Lisa, and then Cruz and Reycina suddenly, and felt we needed to do the "church" thing to be good parents. Church wasn't a priority then, something to make the appearances. I would think of inappropriate images and would rush out of there when service was over. Something entirely different was going on with Lisa, though. She enjoyed going. She would help out in the nursery. She stayed after church for the youth "coffee table" talks.

At first I felt this was a typical Lisa move. Lisa is making friends again for possible strategic sleepovers so she will get out of chores or something. When she would tell us stories of the kids who gravitated towards her in the nursery, I would scoff and remind her she had two siblings at home she could babysit at any time. When she would stay for coffee talk instead of going to lunch with us, I would argue that she was trying to get out of "family time." This was the parent I had become, watching as my daughter was beginning to grow into the young woman she is today, as I grew bitter and more foolish. God was again pursuing me and my obedience, and here I was fighting it tooth and nail. My daughter the teacher.

Needless to say we are closer to being on the same page. We sometimes still nag each other about what Jesus would say about watching "16 and Pregnant" (her) and cursing (me). We both serve in some capacity at church. And when she told us she wanted to go to Alabama (and later this summer, Puerto Rico) to help the victims, I didn't hesitate to sign over a check (despite postdating it to that pay day!).

While I sometimes remember things friends and my family have told me regarding how much Lisa's life would change considering we've given her an opportunity to shine. I really think it is the other way around. God chased down my reluctant heart with the smile of a teenager.

Stripper Batman

There were a few distinct details that something was amiss when the costumed Batman arrived at my Aunt Ginger's house for my cousin's birthday party (at least, I think it was them or it was Jacob). For one, his leggings/pants were way too tight for any normal human being to be wearing, and two, he didn't seem to have any kid-show related props with him. Third, he didn't have that underlying smile that party clowns have. His jaw line protruded from the mask a look of a man in the wrong place. Batman never seemed unsure of himself.

That's what the month of May has been like. I've felt like I'm playing the part of a party clown at the wrong party. Mind you, the Batman was a male stripper sent to the wrong house is somewhat ironic, as it was a random company error. You do what you're told and you wing it. By the end of the afternoon, he was making balloon animals while fighting off the advances and peeks under his cape by the women--my mom included. God sends me out, and I'm looking around thinking, "He must be sending me to another place, right?"

Lot's of rain this month, plans delayed. A sore body. Who needs two good knees, right? A schedule printed directly from the missing floor of Dante's Inferno. Every woman is wearing tank tops and short shorts (hey, not that I minded before, but ladies, do me a solid and cover up every once in a while). I see relationships around me crumbling, holding on like that character in an action movie that's been kicked down a cliff and all you see are their dirty fingernails pressed into the ground, gripping for something tangible. Sometimes, prayers are all I can do and there are times when I think, "Is this all I can do"? I'm underestimating those powerful prayers right now, but sometimes I'd like to just lay my hands on someone, shake them and say, "Will you just wake up?"

There was a moment at church recently. This moment started before service, pretty much even the evening before. I had no intention of going. I selfishly was feeling lousy, unworthy. Today was just not the day to sing or help other kids (my Sunday School class) find their religion. No way I'm showing up for baseball practice. Let it rain!

So, I end up going to church. And this service floors me. It's about loving one another and loving the unlovable. Not really doing my part. I'm in tears from the performances of the youth. Wow, that's courage. Still not up to class, and we end up going and we have 12 kids that morning, about 4 or 5 more than usual. I'm perpetually checking my phone for the weather. I'm sniffing out rain droplets on the windows. Fields still open, phone battery draining. Kids are into the lesson, and we have one kid who is literally showing me how to love the unlovable. In the end, I end up talking to the kid about his video games. I don't question the fact of why he has an R-rated game for his handheld gaming system. Don't judge. Love.

Cruz and I bolt from the church, frantically past the sing that reads, "You are entering the mission field." I almost walk back because I feel a rain drop. I'm actively trying to be late. Maybe they'll cancel on the way. We end up getting there, hustling through warm-ups. During a routine play at first, I quickly turn to remind shortstop to cover second and I feel a thrust against the back of the head. One of the kids thought I was ready and threw the ball, striking me upside the head. I'm rubbing it like it's a brisket. I think I heard a snicker from the dugout. God's laughing too, I'm sure.

Get over it, Cordova