Rebecca H. Cooper's Blog, page 4

Hurry up and huddle

Even if you’re not a football fan, there might be something here for you. You can certainly appreciate the weather, and there is no prettier setting for college football than a gorgeous October afternoon. The match-up on such a day in Athens this past Saturday was between the Tennessee Vols and the Georgia Bulldogs. My house was full of orange people, and from the moment of kickoff, we hung on every play. Finally, the fourth quarter started winding down and ticking away its final seconds, and we really thought we’d won. Then, with only 10 of those seconds left, Georgia scored a go ahead touchdown. Aw man!! Game over, right? Except, with 4 seconds still on the clock, our quarterback found his receiver in the end zone at the end of a 43 yard Hail Mary pass. Final score: Tennessee 34, Georgia 31.The place went wild. My house and phone went wild. Everybody’s Facebook lit up. Charlie Daniels went down to Georgia. It was one more great game and, if you’re a Tennessee fan, a fantastic one! But bigger than the game (okay, Charles, I know you don’t think there’s any such thing, but then again you’re already there : )….bigger than the game, is whatever pushed those teams to the brink and beyond of success. At various times throughout the 60 minutes of play, we thought we’d lost. Then we thought we’d won. Then we thought we’d lost again. I’m sure the Dawgs felt the same. At times, we all feel behind. Beaten. Beat up. But neither of our teams ever stopped. Adversity? Try another play. Dropped ball? Throw another pass. Tackled? Run harder or block better next time.Robert Neyland, former head football coach at the University of Tennessee, is credited with a ton of impressive stuff, including creating seven “Game Maxims” that many coaches use, and that Tennessee players still recite today. One of these maxims is this: If at first the game – or the breaks – go against you, don't let up... put on more steam.Sometimes when things go against us, our best move is to find a place for reflection. But that won’t work in football, and there are times when it won’t work for us because we just need to not let up, to put on more steam.

Trains, tracks and grief

[image error]By 2008, if you had asked me, I would have told you that grief felt like a freight train with no tracks. It could bear down in a way that left no choice but to try outrunning it. If I could just go fast enough, far enough, and zigzag enough, then I could leave the pain behind. For a long time after reading “The Poisonwood Bible” by Barbara Kingsolver, I kept a quote from the book in my head:“As long as I kept moving, my grief streamed out behind me like a swimmer’s long hair in water. I knew the weight was there but it didn’t touch me. Only when I stopped did the slick, dark stuff of it come floating around my face, catching my arms and throat till I began to drown. So I just didn’t stop.”This character’s tactic made sense to me. If grief is the enemy, and you can’t defeat it, then run. But over the years, my intent to dodge at all costs has changed, and when I recently heard an author talk about her grief, she put words to my thoughts. She confirmed what my experience had been, prefaced it by saying we “tend” (understatement) to “run from grief.” And then she added, “Sitting in grief can be healing.”Sitting can be healing? It seems counter-intuitive and counterproductive when your insides are shrieking to outrun the train, out-swim the dark stuff. But I now recognize that her advice sits in truth. When the editor of “Hey, God? Yes, Charles.” requested photos for the book a couple of years ago, I started looking through my treasured Charles things. In the seventh year of widowhood, I was doing just fine. And yet, in the middle of reflecting on some great memories, the freight train suddenly plowed me to the floor. I just stayed there, and sat, and didn’t try to outrun the tears. Twenty minutes later, I didn’t just feel better. I was better.I know there has to be a balance between under-allowing our grief, and over-wallowing in it. But if grief is a freight train with no tracks, then maybe, sometimes, even briefly, it’s okay to just let it stop us in ours.

When colors come together

For the older man in the white shirt who started slumping in his seat, the high- profile and hotly-contested college football game began to slide away. I was seated in the row right behind him - all steep seats with not much margin for error for standing, walking, sitting, or slumping. The wildly anticipated match-up between long time rivals Tennessee and Florida kicked off last Saturday afternoon, under beautiful skies - and a really hot and not-going-away-any-time-soon sun.  We had not beat Florida in 11 games - or 11 1/2 if you count the first half of this one. That had been as brutal as the sun. Volunteer orange and white shirts dominated Neyland Stadium of course though our section had its share of Gators in blue.  But everyone had one thing in common.  We were all rooted to the action on the field, rooting for our respective teams, and riveted to the game.But then something - heat and dehydration most likely - began to take its toll on the gentleman seated in front. Suddenly all of us in the immediate vicinity surrounded him as our attention shifted to his distress.  Our impromptu paramedic staff was a melting pot - male, female, adult, student, old, young, black, white, orange, and blue. Seat cushions were quickly tented above him to provide shade as his son went for help. My friend had just bought a towel that was draped across his head and saturated with water. My cup for ice was a quick donation. A cloth was passed down from somewhere for his neck. Bottles of water started coming from every direction and a young lady in a blue top slid down from another row to grab one of his shoulders so he wouldn't topple forward.  A UT kid literally wearing a Superman style cape, fashioned from an orange t-shirt, stood to anchor the man's knees.  We were getting some positive signs as the Red Cross staff arrived with a chair to get him out of there. It was a tricky maneuver because he was right beside the rail above our exit access. Folks gathered on all sides to get him loaded, strapped in, and lifted out to safety.Then he was gone, and so was a good chunk of the third quarter. And, then, oh my gosh, we all looked up to find that the momentum of the game had shifted in our absence and the Volunteers were piling up points.The Vols went on to defeat the Gators this past Saturday, and we pray our guy had a similar turnaround. In the football world, ours was a stupendous win and seriously beat some odds. But the greater win, and better odds, was the reassurance that in our world, if we need help, there's a really good chance that another kind of volunteer will jump in. And nothing else will matter, including what color your - or their - shirt is.

Grief in the 21st century

This cautionary tale is worth digesting. When my father died two years ago in a hospital near my home, but an hour away from his, I left the hospital and drove straight to his hometown because he had a dear friend there. She and my dad were both elderly and they cared about each other, and she was not with family. I wanted her to be told the news by me, and in person. But in the hour it took me to get to her, someone else from their hometown, who had arrived at the hospital after we were all gone, took it upon himself to call her and deliver the news. He didn't need social media. His phone - and lack of consideration - outran my car.Frankly, I was furious. I don't remember using words like hierarchy. I do remember using words like jackass.Please read this article:http://www.upworthy.com/please-read-this-before-you-post-another-rip-on-social-media

An admirable election

I was recently privileged to follow two candidates, of sorts, in an election, of sorts.Given our current political climate, I may have begun watching this with some trepidation. Yet, I heard not one word of disparagement from either female about the other.  No lies.  No exaggerations. No half truths or innuendos.  Not in person and not on social media.  They seemed genuinely honored simply to be nominated - happy for themselves and happy for each other.  They recognized the privilege and respected the process, and when election day came, they helped each other get ready for the big moment. In fact, one girl's stunning dress was a loaner - from the other.One of these ladies is my granddaughter and the other one might as well be. I made a five hour drive out of state Friday night to be present for the finale of this election. Did each girl want to win?  Of course she did.  But they also rooted for each other and so I - and everybody else - could too.And so, as the evening progressed...how did it all end?  Well, a third lovely, gracious young nominee was crowned with the win, and doggone it, if they weren't just as happy for her as they could be.In the race for Homecoming Queen, two best friends behaved royally.

Belmont...revisited

Charles and I married on a Thursday night in 1969 after my sophomore year at Belmont – prettysure I had my last exam on the Tuesday before! I had already been working part-time while I wasin school. But once a married lady, I felt the need to drop out to work full time at least for the nextyear. At the age of 19, I was no college expert by any means. But I knew Belmont was important tome, and I wanted to finish my degree there, and graduate with my class. So at the end of that nextyear and with Charles’s blessing, I re-enrolled and started taking hours - and hours! - of courses,cramming two years into one. I still had a couple left by our 1971 graduation date, but theadministration let me walk with my class and receive a pretend diploma until I could finish earningthe real one.Over the years, I have been so proud of my alma mater. Belmont is the largest Christian universityin Tennessee. The school ranked No. 5 in the Regional Universities South category and was named“Most Innovative” university byU.S. News and World Reportin 2016. Belmont hosted the 2008Town Hall Presidential Debate and serves as a backup for a current one.So I am doubly honored to receive an official invitation to be the speaker for the BelmontUniversity Auxiliary Partners’ Fall Scholarship Luncheon on October 20. This deal is lots of fun. ThePresident, Dr. Bob Fisher, and his wife Judy are always there. They have each shared personalstories with me or others about “Hey, God? Yes, Charles.”, which I appreciate more than I can say.You may remember Harry Chapman from his channel 5 news anchor and “Talk of the Town” days.Harry is our incomparable master of ceremonies and so funny and has shown such interest in thebook. But the real hero is the organization itself.Through the years, Belmont Auxiliary Partners has provided scholarships for deserving studentswho otherwise might not have an opportunity for a Christian education. The Advisory Board workstirelessly to support this mission and depends on the group’s members to provide the funding.Thousands of dollars in scholarships have been awarded. These scholarships have changed lives.Thank you Belmont.Thank you for my education and for working so hard to make this educationavailable to others. I sure look forward to seeing you again next month.

A field of courage

Eight years after 9/11, I was driving the 700 miles alone to visit a grand in Pennsylvania. Somewherealong the way, I had this compulsion to make a detour and visit Shanksville. I had seen photos of the field where United Airlines Flight 93 went down, but had never had the same visual grasp of thatground that I had with the towers or even the Pentagon. Plus, it just felt like I shouldn’t be that close andnot pay my respects. So I started googling and began to develop some sense of the route I needed tostart taking. It would be a long and deliberate one. The fields of farmland really were remote, and not inan area that a traveler would likely just stumble across. If you were going to crash a plane here, to savelives there, it was a good choice.The trip was, in fact, a solemn one, but that turned out to be a fitting preparation for my arrival. The placewas respectfully, but barely, marked really. There were other visitors there, but none of the current parkdevelopment had even begun. I read the little bit of information that was posted at the time. Then Istood at the edge of the road and looked across the meadow. It was hard not to think about the fearthe passengers and crew on that flight must have felt as events began to unfold. It was useless to try toblock the mental images of the actual crash, the murder of folks who were just trying to get fromNewark to San Francisco. There was no way to avoid seeing faces of men and women like us who diedso tragically – and to hope that we too would have fought back so heroically. And it was impossible notto know that, if my loved one was on that plane, I would never want anyone to expect me to substituteplatitudes - like heroic - for my loss and grief.But standing there, looking at the scene, so peaceful that day, I had an opportunity to silently thankthose souls – and their families – for their courage. It was all I had, and that was all I could do, but it waswell worth the trip to be able to do it as my eyes swept across sacred ground.

Being present

Hiked this trail last weekend. Now Mama, before you put those hands on your hips in Heaven with thatRebecca Ann look, I was not alone. Well, granted, yes, maybe technically; but.This park is not far from my house and I love it. I usually walk out in the open, rarely taking the moresecluded trails because they do meander off into the woods, and I am usually walking by myself. But lastSaturday dawned with such perfect Tennessee weather that I was betting the place would be busy,upping the safety factor. Sure enough, just as a rising trail-head that I’ve been wanting to explore cameinto view, I saw a young couple ahead of me start to climb it. I veered that way, figuring I’d be hikingjust far enough behind them to keep a respectful distance, but not so far that they couldn’t hear a yelp inthe unlikely case I needed to issue one.And it worked out. (Except for that uphill part. It really didn’t look that steep from the bottom but thenagain I’m old.) No matter. Every step was peaceful and beautiful. So much so, that I had to stop for acouple of pictures and, by the time I resumed walking, I realized my unaware bodyguards were gone.Before very many more steps, I came to a fork. There was still no one in sight, so I did a mental headtoss and started to turn right. And just like that, here came my buddies down the trail from some pointabove. They must have turned left and then decided to change direction. We nodded as I let them passby with a silent thank you. Once again they were right where I needed them to be for me to enjoy therest of a great morning.I have no idea who these people were. And they certainly never gave me a second conscious thought.Which reminds me – there are plenty of opportunities to act with deliberate kindness, and thankfully so.But there are also times we don’t necessarily know how – or even that - we are helping someone.Sometimes, just our mere presence is enough. That’s pretty cool.

Who knows?

Back in 2000, I loved the Tom Hanks movie “Cast Away.” The story line is essentially that of Hanks stranded on a deserted South Pacific island after his FedEx plane crashes. You can imagine the trauma and despair but he eventually makes the best of the island, treasuring both the memories of his fiancé and some packages that wash up from the plane’s cargo.Great movie really - but I always hated the ending. While he’s gone, life back home has moved on without him. That’s understandable. But when he manages to survive and return, it seemed to me that, even though he’d been gone for years and declared dead, some magic should have been added to the script so that he and Helen Hunt could wind up back together. Instead, he loses the love of his life. Again. Of course I didn’t want her current husband and new baby to be hurt either. How to do this? I don’t know! I SAID magic!!Last week though, channel surfing while traveling, I ran across the final half hour of this movie and had to watch the ending again. It’s surprising how different my perspective is sixteen years later. If you haven’t seen the pouring down rain reunion scene between Hanks and Hunt, just know it’s heartbreaking as each of them come to terms with what they have to do.But this time, as the movie winds down, I could appreciate the optimism gradually taking root as he realizes he can survive this too – and then some. I guess I had always blown off his closing lines:“Tomorrow the sun will rise,Who knows what the tide will bring?”Love, loss, life, tomorrow. “Who knows” is right.

Signs - neon and otherwise

When the kids were little they were in an after-school program. Charles worked closer than I did totheir elementary school, so he would pick up the girls on his way home. I generally had dinner underway by the time the onslaught began.First, I would hear the basement garage door go up. Then, three car doorswould slam and that would be followed by a herd of family coming up the steps. Usually they’d take aminute to throw down book bags or remove a tie or pet an animal before starting to sniff their way intothe kitchen and talk about their day.One afternoon was different though. After a brief pause in the basement, I could hear all three tumblethrough the door at the top of the stairs and head my way with no detour.  The youngest was the first tobarrel into the kitchen, although our other daughter and Charles were not far behind. The leader of thepack was breathlessly reporting even before she came into view.“Momma! Momma! Momma! There was this little dog in the middle of the road in front of our school.And Momma, Momma, Momma, there were lots of cars. And Momma, Momma, Momma, she wasabout to get run over.”I glanced up from the distraught little face to see her sister and her daddy shaking solemn heads in silentconfirmation of this eyewitness account.  Charles especially had a deep level of concern in his big blueeyes, not quite meeting mine from under his furrowed brow.Then, the light bulb went off and I askedthe question that really wasn’t. "That dog is in this house, right?"  They all began to nod vigorously and Iheard three voices almost shout in unison, “Yes! Can we keep her?”I think the four-legged head count in our house at the time was three cats and three dogs - all but one -arescue or stray.  (Our all-time high would eventually be five and four.) We were on four acres and I waspretty sure there was a neon sign above our house with an arrow pointing down to guide homelessanimals and lousy owners.Of course, we kept the dog. What else are you gonna’ do when all the signs are there? Gizmo. She’s theone wearing the University of Tennessee hat.Not that I didn't have a little discussion later with the guy carrying her...