FALL IS COMING!

Fall is in the air.  I can feel it in my bones.  No, I don’t see it, and—aside from a faint sense of days cooling—I don’t feel it.  But it’s there.  It’s coming.  Maybe it’s the fact that the heat is less intense these days.  I’m down to one shower a day now here in Kona, Hawaii.  Like the tail end of an Indian Summer in the Northwest, we are lingering between summer and fall.   We pull the blanket on us earlier in the evening when Randy and I fall into bed. 

My husband thinks I’m crazy for saying that fall is beginning, or that it’s even cooler.  But I know it’s just around the corner.  It’s more than outward appearances. It’s a knowing of a season, of an imprint in my soul, like some kind of genetic cycle as sure as the maple leaves turning yellow in my native Forest Park in Portland. 

When I got home today after a missions celebration, the culmination of our first unit of study at our boys’ school, I made motions towards my bed.  I needed a nap.  But it would have to wait.  There was a fall lighting that filled up my room, squeezing between the flickering blinds on my window. I couldn't pass it up.  It was lower in the sky and softer than normal.  It drew me out onto the lanai from my nap.

What was that?

An edge to the heat.  A sense of expectation.  Newness to come. 

As a school teacher, fall has always brought a sense of a fresh start. It’s a new school year here in Kona, and new families are coming in to our co-op school community.  But there’s an on-the-edgeness in my spirit as well.  Strong enough to come see, to look and wait and pray, to see what God might be up to in this new season.

I find it interesting that I just submitted an article to the local paper about a ship coming in this Saturday.  Yet I find myself in my mind’s eye standing on a dock, waiting.  Waiting for a ship—a new thing and rare treat—to come in.   How could my soul sense fall when my body scarcely senses any freedom at all? 

I've seen glimpses of that new ship.  In my heart she’s called Hope.  When people cannot find her, they yell out for Hope found, for expectations met.   I must have a ride on that ship.   “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.”  Proverbs 13:12

Let’s not defer hope any longer.

As I got up from my nap and cooked up some zucchini, green beans, and sweet onions from the market, I relished every bit of the fall meal preparation.  I sensed the ship was already coming in.   There were things that we didn't expect to happen in this season in our lives, but they are happening.  Randy has been asked to preach at our church once a month.  Friends who take the services at the chapel at Waikaloa Hilton asked if we would give the message and lead worship there monthly as well. 

Out on the lanai, I asked the Lord why this favor.  He reminded me that we have been faithfully working, patiently plowing. 

I wondered if it was another reason as well.  I have been asked to re-join our worship team at church, something I occasionally did a year ago.  I had been feeling like music was missing in my life, and our pastor just asked me if I’d start playing keys and singing again, starting this Sunday. 

 The university where I work has asked me to write articles for the paper.  Other than one earlier press release, I wondered if this would actually happen.But when I was  asked to write this piece about the ship coming in, I began to have hope.  I co-authored it with a gentleman in the community, and then was asked to come to the advance interview with the YWAM Ships director and the reporter to help navigate this whole paper-publicity stuff.  I didn't see that coming. 

But it is coming.

I believe I had to lay down my desire to help lead worship.  I had to let go of my hankering to write regularly for the paper.  I went through a season of being humbled over some things.  These desires went into the ground and have now sprung back up.  

Jo Jo, age two, peeks into our dining room from next to our Japanese Maple bush, moving into full color.

A fall memory I have of back home was how our Japanese lace maple tree would turn bright red in October.  It stood just outside our dining room, where we had one single painting on the wall:  it was a large print by Raoul Dufy called The Harvest.  We would enjoy it with our little boys as we looked out onto the world, the trees turning in Forest Park, and as we welcomed the seasons of our lives.

               I welcome this fall season now here in Hawaii, even if I only feel it in my bones.

Evan's kindergarten field trip to the pumpkin patch.

Multnomah Falls  is one of our favorite places to visit in the fall  when home in Portland. 

A huge smile for a boy who found a HUGE leaf pile! 

The Power of a Playing Parent

“For it is God who works in you to will and to act according to His good purpose.  Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a wicked and deprived generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life…”Phil. 2:13-16a

I’ve been thinking lately about soccer and our involvement with our kids in this sport.  I suppose a title could be:

The Power of a Playing Parent

When you sign your son or daughter up for AYSO (American Youth Soccer Organization), it really is as if you are playing.  You could just drop them off and disappear for the two practices a week, but with younger kids that is discouraged.  So, if you are on the premises, you may as well participate. You could sit there and complain about having to go to all of those games, or you could be an encouragement on the sideline.  I want to always be an active parent on the side line of soccer.  I want to cheer loudly when Jo Jo gets the ball, and take notice when he’s even close to getting the ball. When he makes a good play, I want to let the world know, “That’s my kid that just did that assist!”  Though my son may not be a star, I want to cheer him on like he is one.

What I realized this last week-end is that when we go to the games and cheer on our team, we are a shining force.  Even if they lose, they feel like winners when the parents go nuts when any of them does a great corner kick, or save, or head.  I want to be a star in the way I shine on that sideline.  I want to jump in and do the flagging, or fill out the game card, or organize snacks as the Team Mom. 

And how much more of a chance to do that here on this island. 

After a few seasons here in Kona AYSO, you recognize kids and the coaches.  If you don’t get out of the way, you just may get talked into being a coach.  It happened to me two years ago.  I showed up at a parent volunteer meeting saying I wanted to be an assistant coach for the U-8 (under age eight) team.  I somehow walked out being the head coach of Evan’s U-12 team.  Yep. I ended up forever drafted into the kids’ Hall of Fame here in Kona.   I still remember each of those boys’ names.  To this day when I run into Ezra’s mom at Target, or Justin at the theater, or Tui at the Easter Sunrise service I am “coach” to them.

The thing is, that happens even when you’re not coaching.  By just being present, you learn the name of all ten kids on your kid’s team.  You know who is best for taking penalty kicks, and who you don’t want to put in as goalie.  You also get to know the parents. 

This last weekend at the giant end-of-season party, I saw so much cheering by the parents, I figured the lines were fuzzy, and we were just cheering on all of our kids at once.  When Team Dynomite donned their cylinder cardboard crackers, I was cheering.  My husband was shooting photos.  When the Blue Angels strolled out with 3-D cardboard airplanes tied over their shoulders, we were all in wonder.  Every boy that has played on our sons' teams in the past was cheered on by name when his team banner walked by.   I daresay the parents were having as much fun as the kids.

There were some parents who came late, grumbled about the loud music, or sat in their lawn chairs the whole time.  Yet others circulated, thumped coaches on the back, laughed at the kids’ antics, and enjoyed each other.  “For it is God who works in you to will and to act for His good pleasure.”

As I walked around the giant soccer field under the lights that evening, I thought, “Wow.  Half of Kona is here.”  I knew there was a Coffee Festival going on with a parade, but it seemed that half of the working class people of Kona were at that soccer field.  What a chance for impact!  What an opportunity to shine!

I saw many YWAM friends shining like stars that evening, holding out life.  Two dads stood around and got to know an artist dad who crafted the aforementioned Blue Angels get-up.  Moms combined their artistic ability to create the team banner, and pooled their money to secure a Mahalo gift for the coach.  Though we may have been on opposite sides of the field during the season, we were all at the same potluck at the end:  feasting, photographing, and dancing.

My first end-of-soccer dance party, I stood on the side and watched the parents and kids dance. My second year, I wandered in to the mix, trying out a few moves.  This last weekend, I was alongside my son’s coach, attempting  Zumba.  A YWAMer mom was on my left and later one on my right.  I noticed one mom in particular going crazy out there, blond curls bouncing, as she tried to keep up with her U-6 son.  “I’m out here because my son asked me to be his dance partner.”  I recognized her later as someone from my church. 

One coach stood on the side of the dance circle, a lei around his neck.  At his U-14 girls’ urging, he jumped into the dance circle and launched into his best robot dance.  Who was this guy?  The assistant pastor of Living HopeChurch. 

I believe there is more to this than meets the eye.  The whole of AYSO happens from volunteers.  But more than that, friendships are forged.  I have a new running partner, a mom who recently went through a divorce and who has just started attending church again.   Over increased years in this sport, we have galvanized friendships with parents. We know their names.  Something of light and life has rubbed off by the power of parents in the game.