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Eye On The Ball: Inspiration from Andy Murray and Toby Mac, an Unlikely Match

Photo: Creative Commons

As everyone celebrated Andy Murray’s significant first Grand Slam win today, something in the news really caught my eye. And it wasn’t that Rado watch which he panicked over finding at the end of the match!

It’s a typical piece of photography, demonstrating the sportsman’s prowess. I must have seen similar photos a thousand times before. In this brilliant shot of Murray, he’s captured with racquet positioned optimally, yellow ball mid air, as he’s about to slice it precisely across the court. His eyes are focused intently on the ball as he readies himself to take aim and succeed against his opponent.

Murray’s impressive win would not have been possible if he had decided to take his eye off the ball, even for only just a few shots. Every shot has potential to change the course of the whole match. In his interview afterwards he shared that when he went for a break just before the fifth set, he told himself – “For one set, just give it everything you’ve got.”

At the end of it all, his body was in pain. He winced as he removed his trainers. The match had stretched his body to the limits. But it was worth it. He made history. He achieved his goal.

So what could Mr Murray possibly have in common with an incredibly cool, middle aged hip hop/ rock/dance artist from across the pond?

 

Having recently heard Toby Mac’s latest hit song “Eye On It”, I’m reminded of the parallels to be drawn from the sporting and spiritual arenas. Toby, a well known Christian artist currently topping the American Billboard charts, passionately sings:

I set my eyes to the west, walking away from it all
Reaching for what lies ahead, I got my eye on it
I see my sweat hit the ground
I put my foot in the block
This is the race of my life
And I can’t wait for this shot

As he hammers home his intent to focus on his spiritual journey, Toby highlights how the race for Christians isn’t a sprint; it’s a continual marathon which requires equal measures of concentration and commitment. Half hearted attempts at either sport or spirituality won’t stay the course or produce the desired result.

It’s easy to get distracted on the journey of life, phasing God out of our decisions or our joy. To reach that ultimate destination and to achieve the best that God has for us, requires us to do our part and give everything we’ve got (our “heart, mind, soul and strength” as Jesus exhorts us in the Gospel of Mark, chapter 12, verse 20).

We need to keep our eye on the ball. The apostle Paul speaks of fixing our eyes on Jesus, the “author and finisher of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2). If Jesus remains our focus, we know that we’ll come through to ultimately achieve a far greater prize than a silver cup or human acclaim.

To quote more from Toby Mac:

I’ve got my eye on the prize, I’ve got my eye on it
I’ve got my eye on the prize and I will not quit

Both Andy and Toby demonstrate their fixation with achieving what’s important to them. Today I’m challenged to renew my focus, to take inspiration from both the sportsman and the singer.

(Link to Toby Mac’s song, Eye On It…) 

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Word Feast – Allowing The Written Word To Have Its Way With Me

I am a creator. I’ve never said that before – it sounds a bit pretentious or boastful. Yet when I weave abstract words together with other less dramatic phrases and humble language, it’s possible to create a piece of written art.

Words that mean little individually, assume power or splendour once blended together in thoughtful arrangement. A message is communicated to willing readers. The style and theme of the piece makes each one unique.

Like the ingredients of a recipe, on their own words may not be very palatable. Brought together by the skillful hands of a chef, they transform into something irresistible.  Words may not be tasty but it’s possible to eagerly consume a finished piece of poetry or prose and feel satisfied afterwards.*

Sometimes I question why creativity strikes in the middle of the night. Its 2.16 am. I can’t help when words start to take flight. I can either resist their power or I can soar. Words are transported from the recesses of my mind to the forefront of my keyboard. At best – flowing together in literary harmony; at worst – still capable of elliciting a response or an emotion.

Some may call this psychobabble. I call it a reflection of my Creator working through both my mind and my fingertips. The compelling urge to write has free reign as I choose to ride the wings of creativity and allow the written word to have its way with me. Hoping that the outcome may produce something of worth. Certain that I’ve used far too many metaphors in this piece!

*One such work of art that thoroughly moved me and filled my soul is the novel by Brandon Clements – Every Bush Is Burning

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Parenthood – The Best and Worst of Times…

This post was inspired by responding to Jeff Goins’ article on new parenthood. I decided to expand on my comment on his site and create my own little article…

Kids can definitely drive you crazy. Where you may have once lived a relatively planned and well-organised life – featuring social events, regular sleep and quiet interludes, you can guarantee that kids will cause quite a disruption to any semblance of ‘normal’ that you experienced before their arrival. A friend of mine used to speak in terms of BC and AC – before and after children.

The best way to describe the parenting process from my perspective would be “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” (to pinch a quote from Dickens). Raising three boys has been, and still is, the challenge of my life.

The joys and trials of raising children fluctuate inconsistently from week to week. There are so many variables that you can’t control, from crying to stubborn personalities to illnesses or allergies. It takes time to get used to these things, along with a measure of emotional energy.

To survive the wildly random nature of parenting I’m convinced requires two things: acceptance and perseverance. Acceptance of the fact that it WILL be difficult at times and that you won’t be an instant pro, despite all your preconceived notions. Perseverance to keep going even at your lowest moment when you feel like a complete and utter failure as a parent.

It’s a humbling process. Soon after the birth of your first child there’s usually a rude awakening that brings every ounce of hidden selfishness to the surface which reveals a side of you that you didn’t think existed. As time goes on, this unwelcome, other side of you is likely to emerge more often. (This can be pretty scary, when you used to view yourself as a laid back, reasonable, well-adjusted person.)

Learning to tame your raw, inner beast that wants to respond in anger or despair is not so simple as it seems. Sleeplessness and monotony play a large part in the battle. Face it – most people are not able to operate in the same way after less than five hours sleep, followed by eight hours or more in the company of unreasonable small beings. (Add in a headache, the need to stay in for the washing machine repair guy, and rain pouring down outside – and the situation intensifies.)

Just when I thought I’d got this parenting thing sussed, feeling quite pleased with the lovely three and five year old boys I’d produced (after much effort and training and wisdom on my part – or so I thought!) – things were thrown off balance when a third child was thrown into the mix. That’s when I started to really learn that I cannot do this long-term child rearing project on my own. That I need the guidance of others and the grace of God. Oh the wonder of grace – to be not so harsh on yourself and admit you need God’s help.

It’s a major learning curve, one that I’ve stumbled over many a time. Parenthood is certainly not for the faint-hearted.

But there is joy. And laughter. And awe and amazement at these little beings that resemble your likeness and make your life so much richer. And as you try to bring them up right and influence them for good, you realize that they are changing you – your priorities, your perspective, your character, your future. These are the incredible aspects of that crazy thing called ‘parenthood’. And I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

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smartphone poetry//: Chosen

(This poem was jotted down late one night as I was about to go to sleep & emailed to the intended teen recipient whom God impressed on my heart. Here in its original, sloppy format…)

look me in the eye u know u can’t deny the love / once planted in ur heart/ by Jesus/ don’t look away/ u know the price he had to pay for – the precious blood he shed for – u/ don’t look away, why r u throwing it all away? /  when he’s waiting , waiting for u/ his heart breaking for u/ let him love u. Listen, he is near/ calling out ur name/ precious one, child of grace/ turn ur face again to him/ he holds u in a special place close to him/ and his covenant with u is never broken, for u are chosen/ since before time began u are part of His plan/ even knowing all you’d do and the stupid stuff too/ he’d do it all again/ cos u r his child/

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Candyfloss Culture

ImageToday you’ll find me over at Jennie Pollock’s great site  

I met Jennie on the online world via a writing challenge we were both completing. I was unable to complete all the challenges in a timely manner but I’m hoping to knock another two off my list with the above article…Challenge #9 Great Writers Connect with other Writers and Challenge #12 Great Writers Provoke Us.

Jeff Goins’ 15 Habits of Great Writers series certainly alerted me to the fact that I need to be proactive and get going with projects whilst also being ready to stick my neck out and take a few risks. Amazingly, after interacting with Jennie about this article that I’d had brewing in my mind for quite some time, she encouraged me to not only write it but suggested that it feature as a guest post on her blog. Rather than find a million excuses as to why I shouldn’t, I decided to seize the opportunity and go for it.

It turns out that Jennie is also a spectacular editor who worked her refining magic on the post, including dividing it up into two separate articles. I am most thankful for her willingness to offer me this opportunity as a guest blogger and hope that you will enjoy looking around her site. Jennie is also a twitterer well worth following. She can be found at @MissJenniep.

(NB – Candyfloss is our British term for  ‘cotton candy’ as it’s known in the States. Photo: stockfreeimages.com)

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My NHS Story (That’s our free National Health Service for any overseas visitors to this blog)

IImage awaited check in at the Cambridge hospital for scheduled surgery with not a little trepidation. Would I be greeted with kindness and care or would I be met with harsh faces and uncaring nurses? I have to admit that I expected the worst. My last stay in hospital, after the birth of my third child, was  a rather unpleasant experience to say the least, and I checked myself out as soon as possible.

The NHS has had to take a lot of flack and criticism over the last few years, particularly in the area of nursing care. I was most fortunate to discover that this time I was to be placed on a very quiet ward. This meant that the nurses tending to my care were not rushed off their feet; they were very pleasant. The majority of them were not British – and it really didn’t matter. One was Romanian, one a Pilipino, one half German. They welcomed me as if I were their own flesh and blood. They smiled at me.

I wanted to hug one of the nurses when in the middle of the night I was feeling nauseous and hot, and she rushed over to me with a portable fan and pointed it in my direction. I was full of genuine thanks when another nurse earlier cleaned up my sick that splashed all over the floor. I kept apologising – that’s really not a nice job to do – and would have offered to help clean it up myself, were I not so weak.

They kept saying “It’s ok, don’t worry about it”- but I was thankful, I was so grateful for this act of kindness. You can’t legislate for kindness. You can train nurses to write essays, to be fluent in medical mumbo-jumbo speak, to follow procedure and tick every bureaucratic checklist, but you can’t really train for a natural, inherent kindness; it is for this that I am truly grateful.

They didn’t treat me as if I were a nuisance or begrudge me care for being ill. They were tender and sweet and understanding; this is priceless.

My twenty-four hours of care could have been twenty-four hours of hell – we’ve all heard the horrific stories, including the recent one of the young man who was dying of thirst on a ward and called in emergency services to alert them of his plight. (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-18814487)

Instead my faith was restored in the humanity of professional nurses who gave their best. They smiled, they were friendly, they asked if I was alright, they asked if I needed anything.  There were no complaints when I spilt a near full cup of tea all over me and the bed whilst in a state of drug induced delirium; they just got on with their job with a good attitude. Admittedly this was because the ward was quiet; had the five beds been full, I’m sure the situation would have been quite different.

But it renewed my hope, and made me see that, given the time and space and opportunity to care, some nurses will willingly run to fulfil their duty. I hope this may be said of other hospitals up and down the country.

I can only have good things to say about my time at Addenbrooke’s hospital, despite the gruelling nature of the actual keyhole surgery and the horrific painful after effects. The nurses I met did their utmost to ensure that my stay was as comfortable as possible. Thank you. And to the government: please let nurses return to their job of caring and being kind. Free them up of endless paperwork and bureaucracy. Allow them to fulfil their natural mandate to look after people, to show compassion, to be kind. For this is ultimately all that we really want from the NHS. (Along with a clean bed and bathroom)

I am thankful that my foreign nurses all spoke good English. I do believe that if we employ those from other countries that they should be fluent in English to minimize confusion and avoid anguish of the patient. I experienced no such anguish. They attended to my needs magnificently.

When you’re in great pain and distress, it’s wonderful to be surrounded by those who will look to your needs and try to help you as best they can when you are in such a weak and vulnerable situation. Let’s not write off the NHS just yet, nor take for granted the wonder of free healthcare.

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7/7 (In Less than 24 Hours) – A Poem

On the anniversary of the London 7/7 bombings I’ve decided to re-post a poem which I wrote shortly after that fateful day, seven (eta: now 10) years ago. Thanks to Gillan Scott over at God and Politics UK who has also featured it on his (former) site. [Gillan can now be found over at archbishopcranmer.com]

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From elation to deflation
in less than twenty-four hours
From euphoria and applause
on the streets of London,
to sudden, forceful pause
across the transportation network.

Stillness in the city,
but for the sirens, the screams.
From gasps of delight
to gasps of horror,
From cheerful celebrations
to serene silence.

Lives cruelly snatched away.
Hearts leapt on Wednesday,
sank on Thursday –
Hope sapping from the heart of London
and the heart of man.
But our hope is in you, sovereign Lord

As the nations rage
our hearts remain steadfast in You.
Eight leaders in a room can never save the world,
nor the words, deeds or music of man
But at the King’s Cross
we still have reason for faith,
Hope and Love, they too remain
We won’t live in fear, but freedom

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FaithWalk/ Destination Highway – A Poem

Well sometimes I find myself driving along this road of virtual Christianity
bordering the highways of pure vanity and supposed reality
Going in circles, not quite the straight and narrow,
experiencing the same levels of religiosity, at times pandering to my curiosity
which leads me down other alluring paths where someone promises an easy ride.
Or is this just church-ianity? (seems akin to intellectual insanity)
Somehow avoiding any new maturity, never reaching my destiny in You

“Am I nearly there yet?” ringing in my own ears. The end is not in sight and I’m lost in a fog on a dark night longing to find my way home –
Home to You, home to Your truth, Your light, Your glorious freedom
Like a breath of fresh air after swallowing streams of stale vapours for so long
And signs leading to easier paths of pleasure and advancement might tempt me
But there’s no peace, no security in any other way than Your Cross-road

And I can hear you reminding me to seek Your face and You’ll show me Your Glory
“Seek Me in the secret place and I’ll show you the higher way –
One that misses out the potholes of confusion and the diversions of emptiness –
along with the inevitable crashes that bring you to your knees in desperation,
Wondering how on earth you ended up here without Me in your broken vehicle.
When all I want is a broken you – someone who will bring glory to My name, not theirs.”

Image: Creativei, stockfreeimages.com

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My Dad – An English Gentleman (1937-2012)

On this first Father’s Day without my Dad (and I could never have imagined that I would be writing those words before I turned 40) I choose to spend some time remembering his wonderful nature and attributes. From the twinkle in his eyes, to his charming welcome, my Dad was a joy to be around. He loved and accepted people, no matter their status or background, always willing to engage friends and strangers in rapt conversation. He just knew how to put people at ease and make them feel at home.

And my Dad loved me. Unconditionally – from my earliest days, through my turbulent teens and into adulthood. Like a rock, he was dependable and consistent, always willing to listen, to lend a hand and give of himself. Although he wasn’t perfect – like everyone he had some foibles and weaknesses – he mirrored God’s unchanging love to me, always choosing to be thankful and joyful, no matter how dire the situation.  My Dad was a gem – a true gentleman, an exemplary father and a special Grandpa to my sons.

Today I miss his warm embrace, I miss his cheerful voice, but I will remember the many good days I was blessed to have him in my life, to have him as my Dad.

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As a young man who captured my mum’s heart.

Joyous day for both of us

Cheerful Dad

P.S In case you’re wondering… I share my dad’s enthusiasm for Germany, gadgets & new technology, but probably have more genes passed down from my mum!)