"FEET ON THE GROUND!" PART 2

Good evening! I was on the front porch had my chat all prepared not once—but twice and lost it. Didn’t nean to ‘snub’ ya’ll..I just gave up. Some key I hit and the screen goes blank…ok you teckies what am I doing wrong??


Technology can’t live with it..can’t live without it. Speaking of blogs ….check Amy’s and see Karsen’s first steps. Too cool!


Another busy day…but here on the porch even though its getting late…I’ve been trying to get back on the subject I had started a few days ago. Gonna call this one “Feet on the Ground”.

My inspiration is dear, dear Amy. She has just signed Kaden up for soccer. Great move Ames. (I hope) after you read this blog you may have doubts…hope not

Anyway we chatted about Tim the youngest of the four or the ‘baby’ of the family as we called him. This was NOT one of Tim’s favorite nicknames. Sometimes in a moment of endearment I will forget and introduce Tim as ‘my baby’ or the baby of the family….and I can see those sparkly blue eyes blaze just a bit. Just a tad bit ruffled…I’d say.

Anyway, Tim’s older brother, Joe, was barely walking and already playing football. He was a natural at it. So as soon as possible he was signed up on a little league football team. At the time we lived in Virginia and the community had some great sports leagues. Joe made it look so easy…was a super star immediately. I’m sure little Bro looked at big Bro and thought something like this…”anything you can do I can do better (or at least just as good!). So we paid the dues, got the equipment and sent our baby off with his older brother to be a football superstar.

Time to pick the boys up…Joe comes bounding off the field-peppy, excited feeling good about practice. We looked for Tim. We shaded our eyes searching the field and finally way out in the field, was a little elfish figure, dragging his helmet, barely putting one foot in front of the other, head hanging low and ‘whipped’. Where were those sparkly blue eyes? Where was the little ‘happy go lucky guy? Where was the little guy, just happy to a part of the gang?

He finally made it to the car. Fell into the back seat, moaning and groaning, something to the effect, “don’t make me go back, they’re killing me!”.

What? Who’s killing him? He could barely mumble. We chalked it up as ‘’first day jitters. Besides, the Preacher (by the way I picked this name for Glen because we have a little adorable girl about 6 years old at our church and I teach her Daisy’s class and that’s what she calls Glen, The Preacher)

Anyway we didn’t birth no sissies…no quitters, especially on the first day!
So next night, we took Tim back, along with Joe to more football ‘torture”. Sure enough repeat of the night before..Joe’s peppy and Tim’s all pooed out-this time the claim he’s being killed is even more vocal with a little higher pitch in his voice maybe just a little whine added for drama.

Finally, we did not even make it through the first week of practice. We gave in and let the kid quit. I never saw such a look of relief on an elfin’s little face. He got his pep and bounce back pretty quickly…even the sparkle in his 'baby blues' came back.

Well, the story is according to Tim,,,,(I’m sure Joe’s version has another twist to it) Joe and his buddies decided to elect Tim to be their punching bag, their tackle bag, their whatever you use in football to beat up on! Only those 2 know the ‘real’ story. Anyway, we let the kid quit. Walk away....Sometimes, that’s just what you gotta do. The singer, Kenny Rogers, had a song with a line in it, ‘know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em and know when to walk away’. Sounds like good advise when you put it into perspective.....know when it is time to walk way.....don't continue to get 'beat up!'. Tim knew. Fast forward a few years later and Tim and Joe did team up on a football team later in high school and Tim did hold his own on the East Texas Christian School!

Well, the Preacher did not get to play sports as a kid…that can be another story sometime. He loves to talk about sports and WATCH it…must be a ‘gabby’ Gabbard thing. I refuse to watch grown men chasing a little piece of pig skin UNLESS I have been involved in their birth. Anyway, the Preacher took great joy in ALL of his children being involved in two of his passions: SPORTS and MUSIC. Therefore, all our kiddos , even the girls, were involved in sports: baseball, basketball, football, soccer, swimming, etc. Julie played baseball and was very good at it…I think she can still hit a homerun in softball! Lori, much like me, not too interested-except in tennis and she is probably the best swimmer.

Piano lessons, flute lessons- a variety of instruments, all four were also very involved in music, lessons, band camps, marching band, programs, etc. Tim and his piano lessons that can be another blog! Tim, I’m really not picking on you…you just have a lot of ‘stories!”

Anyway, back to the ‘feet on the ground’. On to Maryland and once again everyone signs up for some kind of sports. Tim is ready now-for soccer. So here we go again, sign him up and off to practice and he tada!! he enjoys it! However, the Preacher and I have never met such loud, ‘’over enthusiastic parents and coach…. ever. Tim’s coach…was a mild mannered, quiet, conservative, polite undertaker-funeral director by day and on Saturdays…he transformed into the meanest, loudest, craziest, unpredictable soccer coach..(maybe it was those soccer cleats that did the transformation.) The Preacher and I attended many funerals in the community with this undertaker/soccer coach. Preacher and I’d ride to the cementary in the hearse (Preacher and I had this ‘honor’. ) We would have a nice civilized conversation about life, death, liberty, the pursuit of happiness-nice, calm, ‘normal'-if you can really have a normal conversation in a hearse! Then at the games the coach, aka, undertaker, would scream, run up and down the field, take his hat off and throw it, and sometimes even throw himself facedown on the sidelines, kicking and screaming like a MANIAC!. Preacher and I sat there-flabbergasted…Parents (except for Preacher and me-no, not us…we sat prim and proper in our little lawn chairs barely able to see the game for these hyperactive , screaming parents) anyway, they would run up and down the sidelines screaming too. The Coach’s most shouted words were, ‘FEET ON THE GROUND”. Preacher and I still will say that to each other every once in a while…just for kicks (no pun intended here). I never understood those four words until recently when the Preacher told me in soccer, the players must keep their feet on the ground during playing or it’s a foul or penalty or something…(oops my sports illiteracy is showing). Hence, ‘feet on the ground’.

However, when you think of it…this is a good life principle. Running the race for God, keep your feet on the ground. Climbing any mountains before you today, keep your feet on the ground. Going through a valley that seems like the dark of night, keep your feet on the ground. Maybe, this coach’s shout should be our battle cry. “FEET ON THE GROUND!”

So until we meet again on the front porch, “Keep your feet on the ground!