So it’s been over a month since my last post. I know because I was reminded by a friend who is constantly keeping tabs on me (thanks Wolfie). Going through my days there are moments all the time that I feel worthy of cataloguing in what has become my online journal of thoughts (I feel like blog is too simplistic of a term). Of course as the day winds down I’ve either forgotten those moments or am simply too overcome with exhaustion to put my fingers to the keys and create something worth reading. Nevertheless, amidst the lost memories there is still much to discuss. The issue comes now is where to start and what to direction to go. I have always been divided it seems. I suppose it’s that way with everyone though. Our lives are so divided amongst the things we involve ourselves in. For me the most obvious are college student and college coach. Filtered in amongst those are son, friend, brother, writer, and Christian. Often times those all run together, but often I find myself as separate people with separate minds and desires all fighting for control over a single body rather than a whole person working all of those attributes seamlessly. It makes for a lot of wandering thoughts and late nights. With that this post is developed into a two part post. The first a more personal post while the second is a strictly basketball post. That being said depending on where your interests lay you can direct yourself to either or both accordingly.
Part. I
I’ve realized that there has actually been very little written about my personal dealings and feelings outside of basketball thus far. A large part of that is because that initially this journal was put together for the purpose of tracking my basketball ventures, but as I fairly warned with my initial post it is sometimes difficult for me to write without integrating at least some other feeling. This is the first time I’ve lived outside of Colorado, outside of Pueblo County for that matter. The town of Hastings shares great similarity with the typical small town. There is a quant downtown area with mom and pop type shops, there is a smattering of both fast food restaurants to go along with the local favorites, the biggest staples are the college and Wal-Mart, and the majority of students drive the 30 minutes to Grand Island or out to Omaha or Lincoln for entertainment. For those who have lived in a small town know how wonderful the simplicity of a place like this is. The green grass that is everywhere and the familiar faces lend you to feel at home upon first glance. Of course for those of you have lived in small towns also know that integrating yourself is easier said than done. With the schedule I have, accompanied with the fact that my interactions are almost solely with my basketball players, I’ve found myself relenting my free time to the solitude of the weight room in the evenings, and on the weekends to running errands, harassing the Walgreens Redbox for movies, and church on Sunday morning. I know on the surface I came here to coach basketball and get an education. I know on a deeper level I came here to impact the kids that are playing for me and to build my skills as a teacher and coach. To this point I do feel like I’m doing all of those things, but during my times at home I have a strange sense that there’s more for me. There’s more out there than sitting at home in the evenings and weekends.
My Sunday mornings have one of the most blessed parts of the weekend (the other being deep conversations with an old friend). A few weeks ago I found myself in the parking lot of the church I assumed I’d avoid while here in Hastings. I’m not pulled in by large churches. I have strong feelings about how a church should run and have seen too many poorly managed mega-churches to be optimistic. When you first pull into Hastings and drive down Burlington Avenue you’ll see an overbearing sign “North Shore Church” with service times flashing above. Coincidentally it sits juxtaposed to a Chevy dealer sign equal in gaudiness. Hastings literally has a church on every street corner, and then a few more in the middle of the streets which allow for any belief system to find a home. I did some internet research hoping to find a good jumping off point for my “Church Search: Hastings Edition” and on Saturday night about four weeks ago find where I would visit first. The service time was 10:30 so I got myself ready accordingly on Sunday morning and put the address into my GPS (if any of my basketball girls are reading this they understand how important me having my GPS is). Arriving at the said address there was no church to be found. U-turns abounded (again, I know my basketball girls are laughing at that) and I found a church nearby, but the start time was 11:00, and I didn’t feel compelled to wait half an hour in the parking lot. Remembering that awful sign I couldn’t forget the service time that it displayed every time I drove passed it: 10:45. By the time I got over there, got parked, and walked in the door the timing would be perfect. Not wanting to miss another Sunday of church I swallowed my pride and walked into what would end up being a church that I connected with instantly. The welcome at the front door to start the service, and the kindly gentleman that took my name, number and address after the service because he knew he hadn’t seen me before were clinchers to the content that fell between. That morning’s service hit me in the heart. I’m waiting for the effect of the message to come to fruition in me before I delve too deeply in the content, but I’ve emailed the pastor and offered myself as a volunteer to help within the church in whatever way I can. It’ll be interesting to see where, if anywhere, I get directed, but I feel like the church is the perfect place to start when searching for substance. I’m excited for all that North Shore can be for me.
