Ernie Harwell 1918 – 2010

The good Lord has blessed me with a great journey. Whatever happens, I’m ready to face it. I have a great faith in God and Jesus.
~ Ernie Harwell

At first glace, the scoreboard shows that cancer beat Ernie Harwell. Look more closely though and you’ll see quite the opposite. Bear with me if you’re not a baseball fan, this isn’t about baseball. This is about a humble man who made a choice—the choice to live his life with passion and purpose, grace and gratitude, the choice to treat the company CEO and the peanut vendor exactly the same way; with kindness and respect. It’s the same choice that’s available to you and me. God’s best is always in scoring position. All we have to do is hit the ball.

Every one who came in contact with Ernie tells a similar tale. They walked away feeling like they made a friend. Ironically he made his living talking, but he was a masterful listener. He was a true gentleman.

I know into whose arms I’m gonna fall.
~ Ernie Harwell

God rewarded Harwell with the blessings of a wonderful life and the gift of time to say thank you and so long. He continues to reward him in ways we can not imagine.

Thank you Ernie. Thank you for that gentle Georgia Southern drawl that turned a little boy’s room into a stadium every summer night. Thank you for the autographed baseball, and for the voicemail message. But most of all, thank you for being the face of grace.

They say there’s no crying in baseball…forgive me if I break that rule today.

Please visit www.curtharding.com

I’ve been thinking a lot about reunions lately. For better or for worse, the personal connections we make stay with us. For me, this has almost always been a happy experience. Recently, I reconnected online with someone I haven’t seen or talked with in more than 20 years. This “reunion” brought about a rush of emotions; joy, relief, sadness, and a twinge of regret. No doubt, crossing paths with people who once meant so much to our lives can be bittersweet.

I had a class reunion a few years back and had a blast. It was amazing seeing everyone again. We laughed a lot. We talked about life, our experiences and our joys. I honestly didn’t want the day to end. It’s funny, I talk with some people who couldn’t care less about the people they grew up with or went to school with. I’m quite the opposite. Even people I wasn’t particularly close to I want to see happy, healthy, and living life fully. It just means a great deal to me.

As I was thinking about reunions, my mother mentioned to me that it’s been 40 years since her father passed away. I never knew my grandfather. I understand he was not the perfect dad; not the warmest man. Even so, he began to reach out late in his life. Perhaps he began to realized that time was short. As my mother spoke of the four decades that have passed since his death, I heard in her voice joy, relief, sadness, and a twinge of regret. Bittersweet.

Today, I’m imagining what the ultimate reunion will be like. I’m imagining my mom running into her dad’s arms like a child; pure joy on their faces as the pallet clears and the pain washes away. I’m imagining the euphoria of seeing the face of my Father, the delight of reuniting with lost friends and loved ones, the relief of being shown the whole picture. We’ll see that we were placed here for relationships.

We’ll laugh as we tell of our life; our experiences and our joys.

The reunion will be a blast.

The day will never end.

Were you as sickened as I was when surveillance video surfaced this week of a homeless man left to die on the streets of New York City? Hugo Alfredo Tale-Yax was stabbed several times in the chest while saving a woman from a knife-wielding attacker. He lay in a pool of his own blood for more than an hour as person after person walked by and did nothing. One man even rolled Hugo over and saw his injuries and yet, he kept on. Another person took the time to snap a cell-phone photo of the body, but didn’t bother to call the police.

After watching the video I had two questions. First, what has happened to us? And second, am I any better than those who went about their business?

I heard one psychiatrist say that some people are wired with a kind of resistor in their brains that tells them to not get involved. He said, “For some, a paralyzing, instantaneous denial sets in and they’re first thought is: This must be an illusion or a set-up. It certainly isn’t part of my reality. I best move on.”

I thought back to last summer. I was driving to work on a beautiful, sunny morning. Suddenly a car swerved violently into my lane and slammed head-on into the SUV in front of me. As if in slow motion, the car went airborne and rolled several times before coming to rest in the tall grass along the roadway. I pulled over, jumped from my car, and headed straight for the teenage driver who was climbing out of his shattered driver’s side window. He was covered in blood. I froze. Dazed and confused, the young man stumbled away from his mangled wreck. He walked in circles sobbing. I should have told him to sit down. I should have offered encouraging words to him. I should have done more. Instead I waited for others to help him as I called 9-1-1. My body wouldn’t let me go to him. I wish I could play that scene over again. I would do better.

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. John 13:34

We need each other. It’s not always going to be as obvious as a man lying in a pool of blood, or as spectacular as a car crash. It may just be the lady next door. Maybe it’s the elderly man who came to church by himself. What about the girl you work with but haven’t really asked how she’s doing? What if just one word, one minute, could make all the difference?

We’re all busy. We have work to do. We have deadlines, commitments, mortgages, and challenges. We have our own struggles. But if we get too wrapped up in them, if we have tunnel vision, are we any different than the people in the video who walked by Hugo?

“Sometimes if you want to see a change for the better, you have to take things into your own hands.” ~ Clint Eastwood

He has directed more than 20 films, won five Academy Awards, five Golden Globes, and five People’s Choice Awards. By all accounts, Clint Eastwood is the man. His movies contain some of the most memorable and quotable lines ever. Yet the simple words I placed at the top are the ones I’m thinking about most lately.

I think we tend to forget that we’re the directors of our lives. Just think: The free will that God granted you instantly placed your name on the back of the director’s chair and your life is there before you. It’s up to you to change the script and edit the scenes as much or as little as you want.

When 2010 rolled around I decided that some editing would take place in my life this year. Some of that is underway, much of it is not. But the script will change.

“…the drift toward the merely acceptable happens almost without notice. That does not have to be your story.”
~ Donald Miller, A Million Miles In A Thousand Years

I remember when my nine-year old daughters taught me how they edit their dreams. “Dad, dreams don’t have to be scary,” they reason. “You just change them!” I agree.

Where is your story? Are you enjoying the show? Have you been wanting to change some scenes but feel powerless to do so? I understand. Sometimes circumstances rip the bullhorn from the director and slide the chair out from underneath us. But don’t forget there’s always at least part of your story that you’re in complete control over. Make that change. You don’t know how long your story lasts. That is the one thing you cannot change.

You can do amazing things in the REEL world.

Action!

Shouldn’t the goal be to easily share what is good?

Shouldn’t a relationship with God come easy?

The other day, my daughter handed my wife four index cards carefully bound together with purple yarn. She titled this mini-booklet, “3 Things Why I Love Mom” (seriously, how cute is that?)

This priceless gift put a huge grin on my wife’s face and she began to read: 3 Things Why I Love Mom….

1. She loves me
2. She makes dinner
3. She likes me for me

What if, as believers, we could strip away all the nonsense; do away with the phoney ficade and be more like a child? What if we gathered a few index cards, bound them together with yarn, and wrote to our Father? The result would look pretty similar to that of a 9-year old girl expressing her love for her mom. 3 Things Why I Like God:

1. He loves me.
2. He provides for me.
3. He likes me for me.

When it comes right down to it, isn’t that really it?

Well, that was easy…

I was driving around with my 9-year old daughter Emily one day when I spotted this long-haired teenage boy on a skateboard. Just to be funny I said to her, “That’s the kind of punk you can never date.” Without hesitation she replied, “Nuh uh…I can’t date guys who pick me up in a truck with tires bigger than me. And if a guy doesn’t come to the door to get me then he’s rude.” I laughed because I could hear my wife Polly’s voice saying those exact words to her.

Make no mistake…our kids are listening. Our kids are watching.

My friend Karyn wrote a book about all her father taught her growing up. In The Takeaway, she skillfully gives examples of the invaluable life lessons she learned from her dad. What surprised her father the most about this project was not that Karyn wrote and published this book, but that SHE WAS LISTENING! He said that he was amazed that some of the things that stuck with her—had the most impact on her life—he only said to her once or twice.

Our kids are listening. Our kids are watching.

I’m especially fascinated by my other daughter, Megan. She’s such a thinker. She often sits in silence; pondering, contemplating, analyzing. I get the feeling that she’s soaking in every single piece of information available. We were walking by ourselves yesterday and I asked her, “What has daddy taught you that you’ll always remember?” She couldn’t think of anything.

This morning I noticed something taped to her wall. It was a poem entitled: I Am. Among the notable lines in this literary masterpiece, my daughter writes, I am smart and nice. Something I tell her every day. Further down in the poem she writes, “I say, God is real.”

Make no mistake…our kids are listening. Our kids are watching.

His loved ones knew from the frightening sound of his short breaths that it wouldn’t be long. He asked if someone could open the window near his bed so that he could feel the cool breeze on his face one last time. He listened closer than ever at the singing birds and the priceless sounds of children playing. His thoughts began to drift as he watched the white, sun-drenched curtains blowing inward, seemingly floating atop the air. He could actually see the wind—colorful waves blowing in confused directions. He imagined himself as a tiny person climbing the curtain, holding on tightly as it fluttered in the breeze. For the first time, he was unafraid. He smiled as his wife of 23 years entered the room. The smile quickly disappeared. He held back tears and he whispered gently to her, “I am sorry I didn’t do more.”

No one knows exactly what he meant.

I have a theory.

God wants us to live out loud. You must figure out what that means for you. Think about when you’re the most content and at peace. Maybe it’s when you’re singing, painting, running, writing, enjoying time with your family, helping someone in need, or finishing that project in the garage. It’s when you feel most alive. It’s when the machine is working as it was designed. It’s when you’re listening to God.

And maybe someday
We’ll figure all this out
Try to put an end to all our doubt
Try to find a way to make things better now and
Maybe someday we’ll live our lives out loud
We’ll be better off somehow
Someday ~ Rob Thomas

I’m unhappy, even depressed when I stray from living life out loud; when I crack the door open to the mundane and invite it inside; when I surrender to the power of ordinary.

I was enjoying the blooming trees in my backyard one evening. I thought about how quickly those flowers will fade like the setting sun. The tree, it seems, is living life out loud. It’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to do and everyone notices, including its creator. It won’t last, but so what?

Our lives are no different. Isn’t it time to do what you always wanted to do? Isn’t spring the perfect season to roll down the windows, crank up the volume, and live life out loud?

My friend, Amie Streater, puts it this way: “If you wait for someone to call out your potential, you’ll be waiting a long time. Do what God called you to do! You don’t need permission.”

Don’t wait. Listen to Him. Find your curtain and grab hold. It sure beats being “religious.”

Next thing you know, Dad and I are inside the Edward Jones Arena watching some of the greatest basketball talent in the country play their hearts out in front of millions of people; three nail-biting contests, all decided in the final, precious seconds.

But of course this trip was about much more than basketball. This trip was about father and son. We had a chance to do something many fathers and sons don’t – or can’t – do; we talked. Not endlessly, but just enough. I heard stories that were either new or forgotten. I caught a glimpse of life from his perspective which, in many ways, is entirely different from my own. Most of all, I learned that even heroes have their doubts. Even they sometimes wonder if they’re worthy of their own capes.

All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Being with Dad I thought a lot about “smudges.” Mitch Albom writes, Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.

This parenting stuff is hard. I want to limit the smudges.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing okay. When I arrived home from my trip, my girls greeted me with giggles and tons of hugs. Megan handed me a card she had obviously spent a lot of time on. There it is in plain purple crayon: Welcome home daddy…love u. Not a smudge to be found.

Today it’s back to office, back home, back to the routine. Except now I know that my dad is proud of me and he knows how much he means to me.

If you’re reading this and you still have the chance, connect with your dad. Call your mom. Look up at the scoreboard. The clock is ticking. The seconds are precious. If you’ve learned nothing else from this year’s tournament, anything can happen. Only in this case there are no losers.

I have a long way to go.

I was asked the other day to describe my biggest regret. I had an answer right away because I had just thought about it as part of this blog: I regret not paying more attention to people around me in the past.

People, it turns out, matter.

How often did someone reach out to me only to find that I wasn’t there? How many times did I dismiss wisdom? How often was sound advice given and never received? If only I could rewind the clock to the exact moment when something important was happening in front of me. If only I could respond in a better way. If only those moments weren’t lost forever.

Today is a gift—that’s why it’s called the present. ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

The challenge is clear. Yesterday is gone. It’s not coming back. Now is the time to be more in tune. Now is the time to listen to my daughters, my wife, and everyone around me. We may not always agree, but if a person’s eyes are not focused, they lose perspective.

Now is the time.

Recently something in a movie scared my nine year old daughter. She was convinced that there was a bad man upstairs in her room who wanted to hurt her. As tears ran down her face, she held on to me tightly as we walked upstairs together. I explained that in movies they say silly things all the time and that her room is totally safe. I cracked a few jokes and danced around like Steve Martin with happy feet. Before too long, her tears had disappeared. With PJ’s on and teeth brushed, my daughter climbed into bed with a huge smile on her face. Her daddy listened. He was engaged. She was content and at peace.

It’s the same feeling we can give to others each day. Imagine how different our companies, our homes, our churches, our world could be.

People, it turns out, really do matter.