January 17, 2011 was a big day. The world had much to celebrate. Yesterday we honored a great man who did great things. Dr. Martin Luther King was a hero in every sense of the word. His love, grace, and humility forged a path of forgiveness that would change the world forever. He ran his race and finished strong, never wavering in the task set before him. On the last day he was carried home to freedom, wearing the same badge of love and peace that was birthed in him. Because he refused to give up or back down, the world slowly became colorblind. Because he did it in love, his legacy remains and people are still colorblind today.
In a small, insignificant corner of the world, a few hockey fans also celebrated a milestone. Our hometown hero, Patrick Marleau played his 1,000th game. This is significant because he has only worn one NHL uniform during his entire career. Marleau has been a San Jose Shark since the day he was drafted in the NHL. Over the course of his career he has remained a force to be reckoned with, garnering respect from teammates, opponents, and fans everywhere. His integrity and commitment to the game make him an easy favorite. Today he is still running his race, still wearing teal, and still succeeding where others have failed.
I look at these two men and all that they have accomplished. Though vastly different, they are much the same. Both of them had their eyes on a prize and stayed the course. Adversity, opposition, and physical pain did not stop them from reaching for their dreams. They ran their race and they finished strong, wearing the same colors they started in. Everything in me wants to be just like them.
When I leave this world I want to be remembered not for what I’ve done, but for what I have not done. I want the world to remember that I did not give up, quit, or change my uniform. I want to be known as someone who ran her race, finished strong, and never once thought of retreating, selling out, or moving in the interest of comfort or riches. Every day that I am alive is a new opportunity to change my world, and take another step closer to my prize. Today I am reminded of how far I still have to go. There is much in my life that needs improvement. Today is a great day to put on my jersey, step onto the ice, and go after my dreams. How do you want the world to remember you?
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We were tied at 0 in overtime. During the entire 60 minutes of play we absolutely dominated. It looked like an easy win. This series was ours. Success was just one goal away. Then tragedy struck. One mishandled backhand landed the puck in the wrong net. One misplaced goal rendered us powerless. The Avalanche had won. How could this have happened? How could something we worked so hard for be handed over to the enemy so quickly? It just didn’t seem fair. How would we ever live down this moment? The entire NHL had just witnessed history and at that moment, history stunk. Mr. Boyle went to his dressing room stunned and defeated. His team had worked so hard. Now they would have to work harder. On the morning after that fateful gaffe, Boyle had been asked how he was going to recover from his devastating loss. With fierce determination in his eyes, he answered, “I have to get back out there and I have to play again.” He knew that the story wasn’t over, that he had a job to do, and that his team needed him.
As luck would have it, the Sharks bounced back almost immediately in the next game. Less than two minutes into the fist period, Boyle himself scored the first and only goal in regulation. The game went into overtime and the puck sailed into the net to score the winning goal. The Sharks had overcome their adversary with a seething vengeance. I am absolutely certain that their win can be attributed to Boyle’s perseverance and resilience. He knew that his blunder was not the end of the story, that his victory would not be stolen by a mere fluke, and that all of his team’s hard work would not, could not be in vain. The San Jose Sharks returned home champions. They had outplayed their opponent again.
There was a man who spent his entire life fighting for his cause. He worked so hard for so long and then one day it happened. The enemy won by a fluke. A crowd that had praised his name 24 hours earlier was now condemning him to die. Hell laughed in his face and flaunted its victory. All the saving lives, saving souls, healing diseases- all of it had been stuffed into the enemy’s net with a misguided backhand. The hero hung on the cross stunned and defeated. Then the curtain tore, the earth quaked, and the entire world trembled. The man stood up and walked out of the tomb. He wiped off his hands, shook the dust off his clothes, and emerged triumphant. Out from the ashes he climbed, beaten, bruised, and bloody and silenced his opponent with one simple act. He got back up.
“Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.”
Romans 8:37
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There is a reason why Easter only comes once a year. It is afraid of me. The reason why is because I make roasted lamb for dinner. Lamb on any other day may not seem like such a big deal but on Easter? Let’s count the ways it’s just a tiny bit uncomfortable for me. In every hymn book in America you can find some sort of reference about Jesus being the sacrificial lamb. (Think, “Oh Lamb of God”, "Jesus, the Lion and the Lamb”) Song titles and fragments of songs about the cute, cuddly creature bounce off the corners of my mind as I mix together the ingredients for my homemade marinade. As I fire up my oven, it isn’t long before mouths are watering and we’re inhaling the scent of Bambi meeting his demise in my 20 year old G.E.
As the brown sugar, vinegar, red wine, and ginger bubbled and boiled over the main course, I would be reminded later why this particular Easter seemed to outdo all the others. Easter might be afraid of me, but it sure gained my respect this year. We’ll start with the church service. Normally I provide the special music for Sunday worship. This year I had to hand my torch to a more worthy voice, compliments of my companion of late, Bronchitis. (Come to think of it, maybe this was a blessing in disguise. My song choice was “Worthy is the Lamb”) From Sunday service we’ll move on to meal preparation. I should have known it was a bad idea to wear white without an apron. Score a point for the kitchen demons and grab a clean, non mustard-stained shirt that isn’t white. Here’s where it gets interesting.
The San Jose Sharks are winning and everything is coming together perfectly. Score one for Momma. Two hours later the Sharks are down by one and the meat still has another 30 degrees until we can eat it without threat of disease. By the third hour, everyone is starving, the Sharks are losing by 2 points, and the smell of that dang meat is starting to get nauseating. Finally, it’s time to dig in. While everyone raves about Bambi, I am less than impressed and decide that next year I’ll be serving Porky Pig instead of our beloved Disney character. With the passing of dinner and the hockey game I remind myself that even though it’s another loss, we’re still in the playoffs and the other guys aren’t. I turn my oven up to 425 and prepare for peach pie. The kitchen demons are plotting away…
Suddenly an otherworldly stench fills the air, smoke billows through my living room and I am forced to open every window in the house. As the kitchen demons set up their next play, I carefully remove the broiler pan with charred marinade in the bottom and remind myself that next year I will remember to take it out of the oven before turning up the heat. By now I’m exhausted, high from Bambi fumes and depressed from the pitiful performance of my guys in teal. I can hardly think straight as I stuff the charcoal mixture down the garbage disposal. Nice slap shot from the kitchen demons. It will take another hour to get my sink unclogged, the floor mopped up, and the pipes put back together before we can enjoy my frozen peach pie from Claim Jumpers.
Fast forward 10 hours. I fully believed I was back in this game. I had once again opened every window in the house as the heater blasted and upholstery cleaner covered every inch of carpet and furniture. Wickless candles, carpet spray, and burning incense should do it right? I took the kid and the dog to the park expecting to find the charcoal marinade smell had finally found an escape route. It is now 24 hours later. I have a headache from all the incense, the heater is still blasting charcoal marinade smell, and my carpet and upholstery now reek of generic Febreeze. I can’t get that smell out of my house and the brain fog is jumping on the happy train from various scents in the air. The kitchen demons may be celebrating today but tomorrow I will remind them that I married a pastor and there’s a whole year before Easter comes again. I have plenty of time to plan. Next year’s meal won’t come with a shred of guilt. Bambi will be safe, Jesus will still be glorified properly, and I never liked Porky Pig much anyway. I am so looking forward to Christmas.
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