Lent Day 26: Proud Papa, Part 2

Another daily grind (which is fast becoming Dilbertville), another day ending pleasantly with a "proud papa" moment.


But instead of a serene church it was noisy dojo full of sweaty judo players, practicing and preparing for their promotions exams.

Noah was up for his green belt, long overdue since his last promotion to orange belt.  Twelve is a tough age for commitment... come to think of it, twelve is a tough age for a lot of things.  Prior to last year, Noah was pretty gung ho about judo, even going to a Nationals Junior Tournament in Indianapolis a couple of summers ago.  But after taking last summer off he had the toughest time regaining momentum.

Long story short, he passed.  He didn't ace the exam, and in fact if he had taken that exam from people who didn't know him, he likely would have failed.  But his panelists have seen what he can do, and how hard he has practiced, and part of judo philosophy is to help everyone learn and to mutually benefit each other.  They passed him partially on his performance tonight but also on what he's done over the years.

The truth is, he didn't test well.  I cringed throughout the exam.  I had helped him with his judo terms in English and Japanese this past week, and couldn't believe how much he struggled with his recall.  He was so tentative at everything.  He was, as my dad likes to say, suffering from "choke-ilitis," a term I've always hated.

I felt so helpless there.  I knew that he knew the test material; it was stuff he could do in his sleep.  But maybe that was the problem:  he was wide awake and clearly suffering from nerves.  He couldn't relax enough to let his mind work, even with coaxing from his teachers.   It was stage fright on a grand scale.

But it wasn't me being tested.  Noah was being given an oral exam, which by the way is something most people never take, plus having to demonstrate competency of the physical moves on a guy who was almost double his weight.  On top of having a panel of three black belt teachers, he had to do everything in front of a large group of students -- both his juvenile classmates, plus folks from the adult class.  Oh yes, and all the parents.

His sensei, one of the kindest, most nurturing and yet toughest teachers I know, quickly recognized that Noah was nervous, and even himself had admitted to being nauseous every time he had taken a promotion exam during his long judo career.  Later Noah admitted to feeling the same way all day, the day before spring break began.

All this being said, I wonder how well any of us would if put in a similar situation.  To be cross-examined by a panel of elders who change their questioning based on your performance throughout the exam.  And then to do all of that in front of an audience.  Absolutely daunting.

I think we all face moments similar to that:  moments of truth, although perhaps not so dramatically.  Those are the times that test one's character, and sometimes they're so private that no one else even notices the challenge or response. 

I've been trying to think of how old I was when undergoing something similar to Noah's exam tonight, but I'm pretty sure I've never done it.  I've faced many tests before but have always had the luxury of time and privacy; Noah was in the spotlight for nearly 10 minutes.  It was like he was on trial.

His sensei had kind words for Noah in qualifying tonight's results and coaching him for his next exam.  Sensei Dave said that the judo tests serve people well throughout life:  "taking a promotions exam in judo makes going to a job interview in front of a bunch of grumpy old men seem like a piece of cake."

So tonight there's a different kind of fatherly pride, not so much about the outward accomplishment of earning a green belt, but rather the response to challenge and adversity during times of trial, and commitment to self-improvement over the coming months.  (Plus there's the satisfaction of having Noah participating in such a developmentally-focused martial arts school.)

Again, a "proud papa" moment that's also humbling in the blessing of having Noah in my life.

Lent Day 25: Proud Papa

Today's daily grind, which I think used to be called the "rat race," concluded in the most pleasant of ways at a Lenten Vespers service filled with beautiful contemplative music, readings, a sermon and a "proud papa" moment.

I love Vespers (or evening service) because of its reserved character, a perfect tonic at the end of the day.  I'm not sure I would like the monastic life with reserved times for prayer and meditation throughout the day, but an evening service on Wednesdays throughout Advent and Lent seems about right to me.  And the fact that it was right after a Lenten Vespers service that I had the guts to ask Denise for a cup of hot chocolate at the now defunct "Parkmoor" restaurant (now a Walgreen's, of course), and then over that hot chocolate ask her out for a first date makes the season even more memorable.

But today, as I left the ever-increasing pile of uncompleted tasks at the office, I rushed to church to enjoy a community supper (corned beef and cabbage, even though the church's heritage was originally strongly German), and then quickly jumped into my A/V guy mode.  This is slightly odd because I was never the A/V guy in high school, but I do a lot of that now at church and at the office.  My job was to get daughter Amy and best friend (of several best friends) Miriam hooked up with lavaliere (lapel) microphones for a mini-play during the service.

I had heard them practicing throughout dinner but didn't really pay attention to the lines.  My job was to make sure their lines could be heard.

Amy read the Gospel lesson, and something was wrong with her mike.  She was audible enough, barely from the back pew (which is not an issue because of the smaller attendance for Vespers).  Turns out she couldn't reach the Un-mute switch under her shirt before she started the reading.  But that was remedied in time for their play.

The play was a modern retelling of the Parable of the Prodigal Son, as told by the Elder Sister (instead of Elder Brother).  Amy played the Elder Sister while Miriam played her best friend.  The Elder Sister's part reflected that of the play-it-by-the-rules sibling, disdainful of the younger sibling's wasteful ways.  The play did a great job in modernizing the responsible sibling's language in describing the irresponsible one... which is fantastic because most people tend to look at this parable and see how the younger sibling, after burning out from the partying life, returns home and welcomed home with a feast.  Not punishing or ignoring him, but with a feast to celebrate the return of one who once was thought dead but if found alive.

One of my mentors (Ed Schroeder) taught this parable from the German translation, and the Germans call this story "The Lost Boys."  It's not just the younger irresponsible one who is lost; the older one has lost his (in this case her) grasp of what's most important and not truly loving his parent and his sibling.  (See here for a recent mention of Ed on lost coins, sheep and boys from Luke.)  It's not just about following the rules, but about relationships, in this case the Father's love for both children, which is great enough to cover the 'good' one and the 'not-so-good' one.

As Amy read her lines she talked about her wanton younger brother and her dodo-head father.  I wonder how much she enjoyed reading those lines with a 'meta' meaning, projecting onto Noah and me, even if for just a second.

On the other hand, as I was absorbing this age-old story revamped for modern audiences, and I deeply am filled with joy whenever I hear this story, I felt the 'meta' as well.

Amy and Miriam (and another friend Genevieve) have known each other for an impossibly long time; they were all in the womb (not the same one) simultaneously.  They're the closest thing to blood sisters without actually sharing blood.  They love each other, but also treat each other... well as one would treat siblings.  And here they were, portraying best friends in a church skit.

Miriam and Amy, in particular, have always loved putting on shows.  From the time they could speak they would stand on a stairwell landing, jointly singing songs they loved.  They won't admit to liking this, but they used to sing the best of Barney's (the purple dinosaur) songs.  Eventually they would mimic their favorite sketches, then other songs, then ad-libbing their lines.  They both love "Wicked," and for Miriam's birthday one year we gave her the piano/song book from that musical.

To see them tonight, delivering a pitch-perfect dramatic rendition of this updated parable, makes my heart sing.  It's not just the quality of their performance or their talent.  It's because they contributed to our worship in their own unique way, reflecting their special relationship.  They're not blood sisters, in the literal sense.  But the bond they share, in their faith and the sacraments, may be even stronger than blood ties.  So, it wasn't just their speaking the lines well, it's that the lines were being spoken from their hearts, of a story they know well of God's love and what it means to their lives.




So tonight I am a proud papa... and also humbled by the blessings of Amy and Miriam in my life.


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