Every once in a while, we are granted, as parents, ideal opportunites to share thoughts with our children that go much deeper than the usual "how was your day" or other similar tripe that we, when not diligent, allow to become the staple of our conversations. This afternoon, I was granted such an opportunity with my 9-year old daughter. Fortunately for both of us, I was paying attention.
My wife and older daughter are off to Orlando for yet another volleyball tournament. In this, the all important club season of her junior year in high school, genius #2 is working hard to enhance the perceptions of college recruiters and hopefully, land that coveted offer of a scholarship to play her sport beyond high school. Much like baseball, (perhaps more so) this is an incredibily competitive environment with oh-so-few schollys coming available each year. The schedule is tough, but we work to nurture the dream.
Meanwhile, genius #1 has a rare Friday night at his disposal to do with as he will. Though he is facing a double-header tomorrow as a result of the Gators being rained out tonight, he is clearly looking forward to some relaxed time with friends...some of the first he has had since the resumption of baseball workouts back in January, and certainly the first evening not consumed with baseball or books since the first pitch was thrown some three or four weeks ago.
That leaves me with a rare one-on-one evening with genius #3. We have the house to ourselves tonight. Although we plan to arise at dawn to be in Orlando for the first serve tomorrow morning, and then zip up to Gainesville to take in a little more baseball than we had originally planned on, at least for today, all is quiet in Sarasota.
After retrieving her from her bus and hearing of her day, I proceeded with the usual Friday task of reviewing her take-home folder...the amassed report-at-a-glance of her continuing progress through the third grade. This week it contained an essay on her position that this particular week in school has been "awesome". ...apparently a particularly good week for reasons that remain a bit hazy. Nonetheless, in our determination to celebrate her victories of the week, we decided to undertake homemade mini-pizzas for dinner. While it is not always advisable to leave me alone in a kitchen to prepare a meal, (for health reasons mind you), even I can daub a little pizza sauce on pita bread. (I did notice that she didn't trust me to put the pepperoni and cheese on, and insisted on doing that herself.) Anyway, we set off for the store to secure the necessary ingredients.
Ordinarily the trip to the store, less than a mile from my home, is fraught with distraction. ...if not a cell phone call, then the disruption of road construction or the inconvenience of yet another record infusion of Snowbird traffic. Suffice it to say, on any given day I can travel from point A to point B, and once having arrived, be completely incapable of recalling or describing anything I encountered along the way. Such was not the case today.
As I pulled up to a stoplight less than fifty yards from my street, everything around me slowed to a halt, and I could only see the school another block up the road. Time seemed to stand still as I sat mesmerized by what I saw. ...more acurately, by what I did not see. There in the parking lot of Sarasota Christian School, sat a bus. ...a lone charter bus. This in itself was no unusual sight as it stood among the sea of cars that usually dot the lot.
However, I was immediately and acutely struck with the awareness that there should be two buses in the parking lot.
Sarasota Christian is a small private school, supported by a number of local Mennonite churches. ...part of a thriving Mennonite community here in Sarasota. Tomorrow, there was to have been a baseball game there between Eastern Mennonite University and Bluffton University.
As we all have come to understand, the game will not be played. The other bus never got to Sarasota. The players on that bus are dealing with bigger issues tonight. ...issues of life, loss, grace and family...stunned confusion...unimaginable grief.
It seemed such a long time that I sat at that intersection just staring at the bus, my mind awash with an odd mix of sadness and thankfulness. In truth, it could only have been a few moments. The light turned green. The world again spun on its axis. I resumed breathing and continued on to the store.
...but not as before. I talked to my daughter about the tragedy of the bus accident this morning that claimed so many dreams in an instant. I was amazed at how quickly her young mind grasped the gravity of the event, and the obvious sadness she felt. She was clearly relating to what I was telling to her as only other baseball families who regularly have a son or brother on the road can. It was not lost on her that her brother, whom she dearly loves and nearly worships, now takes many such trips with his own teammates.
The conversation stalled as we each retreated into our separate thoughts. Speaking for myself, I locked away a host of unthinkable visions and scenarios behind a door I pray I will never be called on to open. We retrieved our pizza makings, and came home to some outstanding father-daughter time, punctuated by a pre-meal blessing that I will not soon forget.
We gave thanks for our food, and the awesome week she experienced. And we lifted up her Mom, her sister and her brother in prayer, seeking their protection and guidance. Then we prayed for a bunch of families we'll never meet, and a community that knows them well. ...prayers for comfort and healing. ...prayers for understanding. ...prayers for peace.
Tonight, I hurt for the loss to a small Ohio University. ...for the loss to so many families and friends struggling to cope with this tragedy. ...for this loss shared by the greater baseball community.
At the same time I am reminded to love my family. ...to appreciate my friends. ...to serve others as opportunities arise. ...to celebrate the little events in life that I so often brush aside and render meaningless in my pursuit of...what?
Sieze life's moments.
Original Post
