Sunday, January 26, 2025

SYNERGY

 

"I am a little nervous about all of this, Emily."

"Why would you be nervous?" Emily asked, keeping her eyes on Hartsville, South Carolina's streets, as she drove around Coker University toward DeLoach Center, the university's gymnasium.

"I don't know. I am anxious about everything nowadays."

"You don't need to be, Uncle AJ."

"I know. I am excited about watching Michael's practice. We are going to sit away from the team, right? I don't want to call any attention to myself or mess up his practice."

Emily laughed and continued to put me at ease. "We'll be fine. We will sit away from the team up in the bleachers."

"That'll be perfect," I told her with relief.

I planned this trip for months, eagerly anticipating seeing Emily's husband coach his second season of men's basketball at Coker University. At the end of November, the Cobras were a nationally ranked basketball team, so I had picked the perfect time to visit. I just did not want to jinx the team by being here.

Emily and I walked into the spacious gymnasium. I expected the team would have already been running up and down the court. Not a soul sat anywhere in the blue bleachers where I thought we would inconspicuously watch practice. Surprisingly, I found a collection of chairs across the floor in preparation for a ceremony. Ushers sat in each of the four corners of the gym while a woman explained what they would be doing later in the day.

"Oh, Uncle AJ," Emily whispered. "The school is having winter graduation here tomorrow morning before the game. I didn't think they would be setting up this early." She waved her hand for me to follow her. "They must be practicing in the auxiliary gym."

We left the big gymnasium, where I pictured my anxious self quietly watching the practice, and headed toward what I knew would be a much smaller gym. I would lose the security of the open area, and now I struggled to envision a different scenario in which I would be much closer to the action than I wanted to be.

Emily opened the fire door so I could enter the auxiliary gym. Oh, No. I thought to myself. They are already practicing. I looked around for a long bench, perhaps even a chair. Damn. Nothing. As the coaches observed the organized chaos from the center court, the players ran back and forth, dribbling, passing, and shooting a dozen basketballs. I felt like a student who was incredibly late to class already in session, struggling to find an open desk where there were none.

Emily was already walking down the sidelines. She turned around and tenderly smiled as I stood far behind her. She again waved for me to follow her to where she had found a couple of fold-out chairs hidden behind an equipment cart. I quietly and carefully walked near the edge of the court, already caught up in the excitement and slightly worried about an errant pass hitting me upside my old head.

The two of us sat in the same chairs for the entire practice. Ever the mother and multi-tasker, Emily watched but spent occasional moments on her cell phone looking for last-minute Christmas gifts. I was there for the first time and locked in.

Last year, Michael took his first head coaching job at Coker University. The distance between Wheeling and Hartsville has had us all watching the Cobra games on Flosports rather than in person. Two winters ago, I would help Mom walk into my cozy study, where she would sit in my recliner while watching the games stream on my desktop.

We both had a printed roster to cheer for the team's players, occasionally yelling at them while munching on our bowls of chips and dip. Mom loved watching Coker as much as she loved watching Emily and Michael play for the West Liberty Hilltoppers. Game nights were big events in our house.

I found myself asking Emily questions about the players. They were odd questions but ones that helped me connect this team with last year's team. "So Ian, he got big over the summer, didn't he?" "And Glen, his hair is short this year." Emily would laugh at my observations and then update me on all the recent changes, pointing out the new players and where players from last year had gone. It was all too much to remember.

In The Empire Strikes Back, Yoda tries to teach a young Luke Skywalker to "feel the Force" so that he can become a Jedi Knight. The Force is the energy surrounding all living things, binding them together. A Jedi must be able to "feel the Force" because it is palpable to those who can sense it. By doing so, a Jedi can use his gifts and power.

As a teacher, I always relished the moments when everyone in the class was actively engaged in what we were doing. We could be working on a creative project, having a class discussion, or peer-editing during a writing lab. Students would talk with one another, perhaps even unknowingly inspire a peer. Occasionally, someone would struggle, and a classmate would volunteer to help. There was simply this feeling that everyone was working with a united sense of purpose - a synergy.

As I watched the team, I witnessed their synergy from the outside looking in. Yet, despite sitting on this fold-out chair alongside the brick wall, I still felt the energy, almost as if I were part of the team on the court. I was glad that we weren't in the larger gymnasium. From here, I could watch everyone pushing one another, barking out directions to those out of position, and celebrating when one of the new guys showed more heart than anyone thought he had.

The team broke into smaller squads to practice their full-court press and run their offense and defense in half-court scrimmages, while squads who were catching their breath would talk about how they, as a group, could do better when they headed back into action. Even though the grueling practice continued non-stop for nearly an hour and a half, no one seemed to lose enthusiasm.

Later, I shared my thoughts with Michael and Emily about the practice, comparing them to my experiences in the classroom. Watching them reminded me of the difficulty of keeping a group on the same page while moving toward a similar destination. I shared with Michael that a team exhibiting this type of unity is a work of art.

Synergy harmonizes in a choir singing on key with equal passion, presenting a moving rendition of a classical hymn. Synergy exists in an incredible painting where all the hues, strokes, and shadows blend perfectly. And synergy embodies a team that respects, supports, and celebrates one another as they all reach for a common goal.

Yes, Luke, feel the synergy.















Sunday, January 12, 2025

BE STILL AND KNOW

The year 2024 rapidly sprinted to a close. I had been valiantly fighting my internal desire to race through the early days of winter toward unpromised days of renewal and peace mysteriously hidden at the start of a new year. Tonight, I found myself in church, 48 hours from the dropping of the silver ball that I would not stay up to watch.

The 6:30 Sunday evening service has become my new favorite time to attend mass at St. Michael Parish. On this night, the church held a memorial mass for Mom. Keeping up with all of Mom’s masses challenged my retired-person calendar skills but was a continual blessing in my heart.

I was anxious and tense that night, not because of the memorial. Christmas had just been five days earlier, and the sky was dark. A terrible wind howled its way throughout the early evening night. On top of that, the Steelers had just lost three straight games, culminating on Christmas Day. 

The church did not reach the shoulder-to-shoulder capacity of Christmas Eve, so I wasn’t too concerned about finding an area on a pew where I could sit by myself. The congregation of Sunday evening church-goers stood for an unfortunately half-hearted “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful!” Everyone seemed rather tired (possibly from a week of family gatherings and celebrations), but I did my best to carry a tune as Father Luis made his way from the vestibule to the front of the church.

Father Luis arrived at St. Michael this past summer. He and Mom grew close when he visited her to talk and pray during the hottest times of the year. Her eyes always popped with excitement whenever Father Luis came through the door, so I felt much better when he offered the memorial. Mom would have liked this.

As Father Luis greeted everyone and began the opening prayers, I settled into my spot on the pew. Throughout mass, I listened to the reading and Father Luis’s homily. Still, I occasionally drifted off to memories that popped into my mind and even wondered helplessly about daily concerns. I felt the hard wind blow against the church's stained glass windows, and I knew I was present but wasn’t totally in mind, body, and spirit.

Prayers and occasional singing jarred my pondering mind. Outwardly, I remained reserved as I sat in the pew, adjusting my jacket and rearranging my keys and prayerbook. Inwardly, my mind gravitated to the distraction of a crying child or the fading beauty of the Christmas poinsettias remaining around the altar. My latent ADD ignited uncomfortable Catholic guilt as I glanced at my fellow parishioners, who appeared untroubled and engaged in the service.

Sometimes, uncertainty and frustration attack me from both sides. I struggle to focus and grow flushed from embarrassment known only to me. I found the big white candle that glowed near the Advent wreath. Taking some deep breaths, I began to fixate on the tiny flame I could see from over a dozen pews away.

I slowly began to find my place, my grounding. Whenever I felt as if I was straying, I closed my eyes, took another deep breath, and opened my eyes. The mass continued as the church lights flickered with the roar of the wind outside. The organist led us all in “Angels We Have Heard on High” as the congregation continued to process the middle aisle for communion. And the mountains in reply, Echoing their joyous strains. Glor-

And then the lights went out. The church was dark except for the candles adorning the altar.

Silence wrapped us in the darkness. Everyone stood still in the communion line, unsure whether to move or talk, as we all seemed to be holding our breaths for the lights to come back on. I have been in places where the lights had gone out, and everyone began chattering and even laughing. The church being pitch dark except for four or five candles illuminating the empty darkness struck me differently.

My anxiety and tension melted completely. I no longer needed to keep either at bay with deep breaths and candle-watching. I chuckled a little. I ever so softly sang to myself. Glor-or-or-or-or-or-ia. No one noticed. I smiled as I cherished the quiet and solitude amidst a crowd of people in the dark. 

And then one light, a small light, glowed a white electric box in the hands of a man a row in front of me. I could see his thumbs moving across the bottom of the screen as he texted someone.

Two more lights blinked as people across the aisle took out their mobile phones. One lady held hers in front of her like a makeshift candle. I could see Father Luis standing at the front of the communion line. He appeared ready to begin again. An usher from the vestibule marched up the aisle with his mobile phone held high so those in line could move forward without fear. 

People began whispering with their neighbors as more cell phones came alive throughout the church. Many people began to feel more at ease using their phones in a place where we once all thought it best to put them away. The darkness remained, but the random scattering of cell phone lights transformed a moment of peaceful solemnity into something else. 

I kept my phone in my pocket, wanting to remain in the tranquility of the darkness with only the candles burning from far away. Mass continued as Father Luis confidently navigated the altar area, finding his spot at the front of the church to give a final blessing. He asked us to be careful as we left and drove home.

I sat in the pew where I had been the entire mass. The organist played no closing hymn as people quietly laughed and talked while bumping into one another despite having lights from their cell phones to guide them. They had conversations I envisioned myself having in a different time or place, innocent conversations about lost electricity and stormy weather.

I sat and watched them leave, hoping to turn back time because I wanted to rediscover the peacefulness I felt when the lights went out. I stayed and did the unthinkable. I looked around with the hope that everyone was gone. I pulled out my phone and quickly snapped a picture of the altar as it stood in the dark, candles casting a warm glow in the empty sanctuary. 

Once I did this, I jammed my phone into my jacket pocket. I wished I had not taken that picture. I had violated some unspoken trust between the serenity still in the air and my presence as a guest. 

It’s just that sometimes I need a tangible reminder of what to do when the weather changes and when pressures and responsibilities become heavy. I forgot that I do not need to fear when life turns dark. I just need to be still and know.