In defense of “Hub City Spartanburgers"

Kathy and I were among the thousands who turned out for Saturday night’s block party name reveal for Spartanburg’s new minor league baseball team that begins play next spring in a now under construction downtown stadium complex. There has been a lot of interest and speculation about what the team name would be.

I mentioned to Kathy and others that announcing the name in front of thousands was some combination of brave and taking a chance, because there was no way any name was going to please everybody. I predicted that no matter what was announced, probably about a fourth of the crowd would be excited about the name, another fourth would hate it, and maybe half would be somewhere in the middle.

That’s about the way it played out when “Hub City Spartanburgers” appeared on the big screen. There was some cheering, some booing, and a lot of “OK - so that’s the name.” “Hub City” has long been one of several nicknames for Spartanburg because of it’s history as a major southeast railroad hub. The name “Spartanburgers” was used a few summers ago for a short-lived college developmental team here and was both loved and ridiculed, depending on who you talked to.

Standing near us Saturday night was one man who was livid at the choice of names. He continued to express his displeasure as the rest of his family looked on as if trying to figure out what his problem was. He looked like he was ready to place a take-out order on whoever cooked up such a terrible tasting name. (Let the delicious Spartanburger puns begin!)

Since then, social media has dished out complaining-a-plenty about the name. “Embarassing.” (Seriously?) “Redneck.” “Is this the best we could do?” Someone was sure that the Spartanburger name was the reason the college team failed. Someone asked how you can take a team seriously when their mascot is a hamburger? (As a South Carolina fan I’ve somehow managed to pull for a team whose mascot is an angry chicken, portrayed at games by somebody dressed up as a cartoon chicken.) “The name is a joke!”

Yes! The name is a joke! And a somewhat clever one making good use of our city’s name. Jokes are fun. People pay good money and fill arenas to hear good jokes, have fun, and be entertained. Nate Bargatze has become a millionaire making fun of himself.

Minor league baseball teams throughout the country have figured out that people want to have fun and be entertained. Why does everything have to be so serious? Minor league teams used to just simply take on the name of their big-league parent team. In recent years they have abandoned those names in droves in favor of creative, quirky, and even laughable labels that often play up their local flavor. I loved the Spartanburg Phillies as a kid, but not because of the name. Some have posted that we should now just be the Spartanburg Rangers (ala Texas Rangers). Where’s the fun in that name?

Savannah, GA used to have a minor league team in the South Atlantic League called the Savannah Cardinals (ala St. Louis) that later was renamed the Sand Gnats. When the Sand Gnats departed for Columbia, SC (Fireflies), the city had to settle for a college developmental team with the ridiculous, embarrassing, redneck, awful, can’t-take-them serious, joke name “Savannah Bananas.” Long story short, in a few years the Savannah Bananas became an amazing success, outgrew their local league, and are now a national phenomenon packing stadiums all over the country. There was much more to their popularity than just the name, but a funny joke name at least didn’t hurt them and in all likelihood was a huge part of their success.

Below I’ve listed the Top Ten minor league baseball teams according to MLB.com along with some other notable top names according to sources like Sports Illustrated, ESPN, Sporting News, etc. The trend is obvious. I’ll go ahead and predict that “Hub City Spartanburgers” will soon be joining such lists, bringing national attention and fans to our fair city. Deluxe plates of burger puns should give sports writers and sportcasters (I’ve been both) plenty to feast on when writing and talking about games in downtown Spartanburg.

I’m not worried about people laughing at us. I’m looking forward to people laughing with us.

Yes, there were some boos and disappointment at the name reveal, but there were also hundreds of people lined up at the large merchandise tent with an appetite for a Hub City Spartanburger to-go order. As soon as the announcement was made, I let our out-of-town grown children and grandchildren know the name. It was met with cheers. They immediately wanted Spartanburger hats, but we unfortunately didn’t have probably a couple of hours to stand in line with others who got and appreciated the “joke.” Hopefully we’ll get some Hub City Spartanburger swag soon that will be worn with a smile and noticed by many others in Greenville, Nashville, and St Louis.

I don’t know who made the decision to go with the quirky, laughable name. They had to know there would be eyerolls and backlash. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. Their willingness to not play it safe and go with a name that has enormous marketing potential leads me to believe that somebody in the kitchen knows what they are doing.

Everyone’s taste is different, and that’s fine. Serving up Spartanburgers may be too rare for some, but I hope and believe that with a little time to age, it might be recognized as a well done choice.

MLB.com TOP TEN MINOR LEAGUE NAMES

10. Richmond Flying Squirrel

9. Lehigh Valley IronPigs

8. Binghamton Rumble Ponies

7. Albuquerque Isotopes

6. Batavia Muckdogs

5. Lansing Lugnuts

4. Biloxi Shuckers

3. Fort Wayne TinCaps

2. Hartford Yard Goats

1. Montgomery Biscuits

OTHER "BEST" MINOR LEAGUE NAMES FROM MAJOR SOURCES

Akron Rubber Ducks

Green Bay Booyah

Portland Pickles

Traverse City Pit Spitters

Jacksonville Jumbo Shrimp

Vermont Lake Monsters

Amarillo Sod Poodles

Rocket City Trash Pandas

Toledo Mud Hens

To Christopher on your 40th birthday

So three days after your older son and our oldest grandson became a teenager, you hit the additional milestone of turning 40. As if I needed another reminder that time is passing quickly. As I read the thirteenth edition of your post “To Jim on his birthday,” I was once again reminded of what a gift those annual writings are to Jim and Liam. I first thought that when you wrote the first one 13 years ago, and wished I had done something so thoughtful and meaningful for you and Taylor and Shari on your birthdays.

I can’t go back and change what I didn’t do back then, but on the occasion of you reaching four decades, I’d like to try to give you a small bit of what you have been giving to your sons. I sure hope you’ve learned a thing or two from me over these years, and the truth is that I’ve also hopefully learned a thing or two from you as well.

I don’t want to just jump right in to talking about the 40-year old Christopher without mention of some of what got you to this place - especially since I’m 40 years behind on penning (keying) this. It’s an obvious understatement to say that I wouldn’t take anything for the years your mom and I have had with you.

As you know, your mom developed some complications toward the end of her pregnancy with you. When at some point her doctor told me to get her admitted to the hospital right away, I asked if the baby’s life was in danger. He told me the baby’s life and the mother’s life were both in danger. That was the first of several of the scariest moments in my life that involved you. (Others include when two-year old Christopher decided to leave the house and go for a run like his daddy did, and when the massive wave yanked you from my arms in the ocean.) The day before you were born, the doctor told us that you would be a scrawny, struggling baby but he thought you would be OK. Thankfully he was wrong. You were a big strong beautiful baby boy and have always been so much more than just OK.

Life for you has not always been what most people would consider normal. You and your mom came out of the hospital and went straight into staff training camp for Centrifuge, the youth conference where I was serving as camp pastor for the summer. You spent the first 11 weeks of your life as part of Centrifuge at North Greenville College (now University) before spending your first night at home. After one night at home, the three of us hit the road for numerous churches between South Carolina and Florida. Your mom did an amazing job of taking good care of you under unusual circumstances. We were together constantly and had great family time together sharing a lot of wonderful experiences.

Shortly before Taylor was born we moved to Columbia for me to go on staff with the SC Baptist Convention, partially so we could spend a little less time on the road. Late one night after making the trip home from a church, we walked into our new house and you groggily looked around and said “I want to go home.” We told you that this was our new home. You looked around again and proclaimed, “I want to go to a hotel.” We spent at least part of over 280 days of each of your first two years doing various ministry all over the country, so you had spent far more time sleeping in hotels, conference centers, and camps than in our house. You learned early on to be flexible, which continues to serve you well.

From the beginning you were a great kid in every way. Part of what made you a great kid is that you didn’t (and still don’t) realize how wonderful you were/are. In 40 years I’ve never seen the slightest hint of arrogance or pride in you. If anything, at times you’ve needed another dose of confidence like a lot of us. Your humility has been a constant. Beyond the privilege of having you as a son, we also were blessed to have you work alongside us in ministry for many years. From running lights at a young age for Art to Heart productions to helping direct Seesalt and Chillipepper student conferences, your strong gifts and talents for great ministry have been obvious and appreciated by many thousands of students and adults and co-workers. You’ve never tried to impress people by who you are or what you do, but it just quietly happens anyway.

I’m realizing that I could write a book of great Christopher stories, but for now let’s jump to the Christopher who has just turned 40.

The reality is that your 39th year has been a tough one. Maybe the toughest. You have made some hard decisions based on not being willing to compromise your convictions about what ministry is and should be. It has cost you and your family a lot, but you resisted taking the easier, more comfortable path and chose not to put a price on your integrity. As you also know, moms and dads hate to see their son hurting, but there has never been any question in our minds that you’ve made the right, God-honoring decisions. Our admiration and respect for you has only grown deeper.

In your 40 years, you’ve had more wonderful experiences in ministry than most people could imagine. But you’ve also sadly seen, heard about, and experienced more than enough negative to become jaded and disillusioned. I’m thankful that you have chosen not to take that path. You are pressing on because your faith is real and it is your own. You have been able to enjoy and have fun on your Christian journey, but you have long understood that following Christ is not a game. You have had the discipline and invested the time and effort into growing deep in your faith. You have never settled for a shallow Christianity.

Many times you and I have lamented that when it comes to Christianity so many people seem to choose either heart or mind to the exclusion of the other. I’m so thankful that you are a strong example of those two not being mutually exclusive. You have a very intelligent, well-informed faith, but at the same time you are passionate about loving and serving God and loving and serving others.

40-year-old Christopher is loving, kind, patient, and as I start listing these qualities, I realize that I’m about to mention most everything found in Galatians 5:22-23 - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. I wouldn’t dare put you or anyone else on a pedestal, but I genuinely see so much of this fruit of the Spirit in you, Christopher.

Because of that, you are an incredible husband, father, brother, friend, and more. As a dad, I especially enjoy seeing what a tremendous dad you are to Jim and Liam. But most of all I can testify that you are and always have been a great son. I love that you still give your mom and me heart-felt hugs. You understand my humor, know when it’s coming, and still laugh at the right time with no extreme eye-rolling. We badly miss getting to see you on a daily or even weekly basis, but we cherish the good and fun times and meaningful conversations that we still get to have.

I’ve never claimed to be a prophet so I’m not going to predict what this year of being 40 will be like, but I certainly hope, pray, and believe it will be a good one as work-related transitions continue. Moving forward, you have everything and everyone you need.

I could rewrite this 40th birthday perspective a thousand times and it would still fall short of being a proper tribute. I’ll end by simply saying I love you, I like you, I’m proud of you, and I’m thankful to be your dad. Happy birthday, Christopher!

The real Marshall Tucker: "Good to see you!"

Long before there was a Marshall Tucker Band, I met the real Marshall Tucker. He passed away yesterday at the age of 99. I’ll probably always remember the MTB, but I’m pretty sure I’ll always remember Marshall Tucker.

Marshall was a piano tuner who was blind since birth. When I was a young boy, he sang in the church choir with my mom at Southside Baptist Church in Spartanburg, SC. One day after the service, mom introduced me to her friend, Marshall. He was the first blind person I ever met.

I remember Marshall bending down and maybe even getting down on one knee to get on my level. He reached out his hand and as I shook hands with this wonderful gentleman, I vividly remember him saying “Good to see you, Bill!” We chatted for a while, but I don’t remember anything else either one of us said. I was too amazed that a blind man had just said “Good to see you.” How was that possible?

As we walked away from each other, I couldn’t wait to ask my mom that question. “Mom, Mr. Tucker said ‘Good to see you.’ But how could he see me if he’s blind?” I don’t remember my mom’s answer, but I stayed amazed. Over the years as I continued to see and learn more about Marshall Tucker, he amazed me even more. His piano tuning prowess, musical talent, ability to run a business, and live a very independent life in spite of his lack of sight were all quite inspiring. As much as anything I remember him being kind and very much a gentleman.

When I was nearing the end of my teenage years, a local group of musicians from my neighborhood were needing to quickly come up with a new name for their band. Various versions of the story have circulated, but basically the band was rehearsing in a warehouse where Marshall had previously tuned pianos and found a keychain with Marshall Tucker’s name on it. The rest, as they say, is history. The Marshall Tucker Band went on to become one of the world’s top southern rock bands and 50 years later are still going strong albeit with one remaining original member.

The band took Marshall Tucker’s name all over the world, but Marshall also made a name for himself. He was well known for his perfect pitch and tuned pianos for some well known musicians including Lawrence Welk and Liberace. (For those of you asking “Who"?” - they were a big deal back when they were getting their pianos tuned.) Marshall and his wife, Lois, who is also blind, were faithful members of Calvary Baptist Church in Columbia where Marshall played piano for the choir and Lois taught Sunday school. But more importantly than being faithful church members, Marshall was a faithful follower of Christ.

I last saw Marshall one summer in the mid 90’s when we were doing summer youth conferences at White Oak Conference Center. Marshall was living in Columbia and regularly made the trip to White Oak to tune all of the conference center’s pianos. We got a chance to catch up and reminisce, and he laughed heartily when I confessed my young boy puzzled amazement at his greeting when we first met.

I’m certainly not the only one that was amazed by Marshall Tucker during his 99 years. His was a remarkable life well lived. And now he not only has perfect pitch, but perfect sight as well.

Associating with Bill Mackey

Our last time together at dinner to celebrate 50th wedding anniversary of Bill and Kay Mackey

I've never mentioned this to anyone, but I have a private list of people who have most helped shape and impact my life. Sadly (for those of us left behind), another one of those near the top of that list passed away this morning after a year and a half battle with cancer.

Bill Mackey called our house one evening in 1985 when I was out renting a video. At that time Kathy and I were five years into "Bill Cox Abundant Life Ministries" (not yet dba Concoxions) and Bill was the Director of the Evangelism Department of the South Carolina Baptist Convention. Kathy answered the phone and told him I would be back soon. Bill told Kathy that he was calling to talk to me about becoming a part of the SCBC staff as his associate director, and asked if she thought I would be interested. She suggested he would need to talk with me about that. They chatted for a while and Bill said he would call back in about an hour. That gave me plenty of time to rehearse my "thanks, but no thanks" response for when he called back.

I was certainly honored that Bill was considering me for the position, but I had a strong list of reasons for why that wasn't going to happen. One of my biggest reasons was that we had invested too much into building Abundant Life Ministries/Concoxions to walk away from it. He understood and explained that we would be able to keep our ministry going alongside everything else I would be doing for the convention. He thought the two would complement each other. For each of my good questions, Bill had a better answer. As I started running out of reasons for saying no thank you, I remember saying, "Bill I don't know how much you really know about our ministry, but I don't like to do things the way they've always been done. I think God has called me to do things outside the box." He replied, "I know. That's one of the reasons I want you to come work with us." I was out of excuses. I thought if this man that I held in high esteem was willing to take a chance on me, then maybe I should be willing to take a chance as well. I am usually slow at making decisions, but after that hour-long conversation with Bill, I hung up the phone, and told Kathy, "I know this sounds crazy, but I think we're getting ready to move to Columbia."

I didn't know Bill very well when we made that move, but it didn't take long to realize that to know Bill Mackey was to love Bill Mackey. And I did. Bill was a great boss, but he was also a great friend. Our families also became good friends. Bill's and Kay's daughters, Anonda and Beth became babysitters for Christopher, Taylor, and eventually Shari. Beth later served on our summer staff, where she met her future husband, Bartley. The Mackeys were and are a wonderful family.

Bill was very much the kind of boss that I could flourish under. My position was Associate Director of the Evangelism Department which included responsibility for youth evangelism. Bill knew that my passion was for youth ministry and he made it possible for me to focus at least 95% of my time and effort in that area. Being OK with us doing things outside of the box wasn't just talk. He was tremendously supportive and encouraging even when we caught flak for things like daring to bring contemporary Christian music into our conferences at a time when some pastors thought and told us that music with drums and guitars was "straight from hell."

During my fifth year on staff, Mom died and Dad was not doing well. I told Bill that I believed I needed to resign and move back to Spartanburg to help take care of my father. Before my resignation became official, Dad died also, but by that time I was convinced that it was time to go back to devoting full time to Concoxions. Bill understood my commitment to Concoxions, but began to talk about the possibility of a consulting relationship between Concoxions and the SCBC. At first I had no interest, but as you may have figured out, at least with me, Bill could be pretty persuasive. An unprecedented arrangement was worked out for me to continue doing about 90% of what I was doing on a yearly contract basis that kept us working together for another seven years. Quite honestly, not everybody at the convention liked that arrangement, but that didn't deter Bill.

Going into our ninth year of summer youth conferences, I approached Bill with the unheard of idea of not bringing in a camp preacher each week, but instead presenting the message each night with original drama productions. I wanted to try it “for just one summer” because it would work so well with that summer’s theme. We knew we might get criticism from some who believed that “people can’t get saved without preaching” (and we did hear that at least once or twice). Bill made quite a few trips to White Oak Conference Center that summer (as he did most summers) to see first-hand how our experiment was working, and he rejoiced with us throughout the summer in seeing record numbers of students begin a relationship with Christ. At some point in the summer after yet another exciting night, Bill pulled me aside, grinned, and said “You know you’re not going to be able to go back to the old way of doing things.” And for three more years with the SCBC and 21 more years of Seesalt summer student conferences we didn’t go back. In addition to all the incredible ministry that took place at our conferences through extensive drama productions, we also built on that to do a summer of theater productions (“A Peace of ‘72”) at Fantasy Harbour in Myrtle Beach followed by establishing Concoxions Cornerstone Theatre where we did Christian theater productions for eight years.

God could have brought all this about in some other way, but apart from the encouragement and support of Bill Mackey, who knows for sure if any of that (and more) would have ever happened. I'm grateful to God and to Bill that it did.

It would be easy to portray Bill as a perfect Superman, but I will admit that there must have been some Kryptonite in our Evangelism Department staff meetings. It was not unusual for Bill to begin talking about something which would remind him of something else that led to a story about somebody and that somebody also once did something in a town where something else happened ... and an hour or so later, Bill would stop and ask what we were supposed to be talking about. The best rabbit chaser I've ever known could turn a good 10-15 minutes of agenda into a two-hour staff meeting. It was a small price to pay for the privilege of having Bill as our director.

Bill was a gifted preacher, teacher, thinker, and more, but I think where he really excelled was in relationships. Bill genuinely cared about people. And it showed. Pastors and others across our state and beyond knew that they had a trusted and passionate friend in Bill Mackey. That respect and admiration was well deserved.

Bill's leadership and ability was recognized and respected throughout the Southern Baptist Convention. During our time together, he had some attractive offers to take other positions including on a national level. There was one in particular that we both thought he would take. He tried to convince me that I should take his place as department director, but I had no desire to quit doing youth ministry. I don't think it would have, but we never got a chance to find out if his persuasive power over me would win out again. Bill was on his way to Atlanta to accept the position, but by the time he got to the airport (I can't remember if it was the Columbia or Atlanta airport) he decided that God wasn't through with him in South Carolina. He turned around and came home. To say that I was relieved and thankful would be an understatement.

The year after my contract with the SCBC ended, Bill did leave South Carolina in 1998 to become the Executive Director of the Kentucky Baptist Convention where he served well for 12 years before retiring. The picture with this post is from the last time I was with Bill nine years ago at a dinner celebrating his and Kay's 50th wedding anniversary. I loved seeing him surrounded by his adoring grandchildren, and marveled that these were the children of the two little girls who used to babysit our children.

It's a mistake to put anyone on a pedestal, including Christian leaders. Too often they fall off those pedestals, or at the very least when we really get to know them, we find out they're not who or what we thought they were. I hate to say it, but over the years I have been disappointed in and disillusioned by a lot of Christian leaders big and small. Sometimes you wish you didn't know the things you know. That was never the case with Bill.

In all our years of working together, there's probably a very few things I wish Bill had done differently. The more I got to know him, the more I respected, admired, and loved him. He was as real and authentic and incredibly humble as they come. Ego was not part of his makeup.

In the coming days as news of his passing spreads, I'll read a lot of great things about Bill Mackey. I just read someone refer to him as "the ultimate Christian gentleman." And I will believe and agree with all the wonderful things people will say and write.

When people used to ask me what I did at the convention, I would sometimes jokingly answer "I get paid to associate with Bill Mackey." Being his associate was an honor and privilege for which I will always be thankful.

Shoes, people, and a chance to change

Several decades ago, I tried a different pair of running shoes as an alternative to my Nike Pegasus. My evaluation of my new Brooks shoes was that they were the worst running shoes I had ever worn, and I vowed that I would never buy another pair.

In the past couple of years, I’ve been hearing good things about Brooks. In fact, they’ve been named “top running shoe” by a number of prominent sources. Most of the reviews I’ve read about them have been excellent. A good friend posted a while back that he had gotten a new pair of Brooks and raved about them. I called Randy and told him about my previous experience with Brooks, and he assured me that the various pairs he had tried were the best he’d ever worn.

In spite of my strong conviction that I would never buy another pair, I decided to give them another chance. I’m a careful, frugal shopper and never pay anywhere near full price for running shoes, so it took me a while to find what I wanted at a sufficiently discounted sale price. Toward the end of the summer, I ordered a pair of Brooks Adrenaline GTS 19 shoes (which had been replaced by GTS 20). On my first run I posted: “Fastest 4 mile run of the summer. Not sure if it’s because of the new running shoes or because I ate a piece of Kathy’s birthday cake right before running.”

The shoes weren’t really revolutionary, but felt good and ran well. I don’t know that I liked them better than my Nike Air Pegasus (which I also continue to wear), but I looked forward to seeing how they stood the test of time. Five-and-a-half months later, they’re holding up well. I won’t hesitate to buy another on-sale pair (which should be coming since GTS 20 has been replaced by GTS 21).

On that first run and some subsequent runs, I’ve been glad that shoe companies can change and get significantly better over time. I’m glad I gave them a chance. As I’ve thought about that, I’ve thought about some of the people I knew in much younger years, especially junior high and school. Some of the ones that could have been candidates to be voted “Most Likely To Wind Up in Jail” instead wound up as ministers and missionaries. For many others the change isn’t that dramatic, but it has been encouraging over the years to see so many made significant changes in their lives. Even if they didn’t start their run that way, they (hopefully we) have become people who love the Lord their God with all their hearts, souls, minds, and strength, and love their neighbors as they love themselves.

We may discover that shoe companies can change if we give them a chance. Thankfully, so can people. Give them a chance.

Ok, that is where this post was going to end. But as I was writing it, I looked into the history of Brooks running shoes. I was surprised to see that back in the day when I considered them the worst running shoes I’d ever tried, even then they were actually highly rated and regarded by many experts as the best. Maybe I got a bad pair. It happens. Maybe they just weren’t what I wanted. It happens. Maybe they really WERE horrible and I was the only one smart enough… never mind. My opinion was certainly sincere and valid, but as for evaluating a whole shoe company … maybe I was wrong. It happens.

Not a bad place to start some of our own changes.

"The life you save may be your own"

I don’t usually comment much about my own medical conditions or situations. But for good reasons, I’m making an exception.

I had another colonoscopy today. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had, but this was at least the fourth or fifth. In 1998, Today Show host Katie Couric lost her husband to colon cancer at the age of 42. Not long afterwards, Couric took on the cause of educating people to the dangers of colon cancer and the importance of getting colonoscopies. I listened. I learned. Most importantly, I acted.

In general, I learned that colorectal cancer is one of the leading causes of death in our country. I learned that early detection is the key to saving lives. If caught early, it is easily treatable or better yet preventable. If not caught early, there’s not much that can be done. All of Katie Couric’s millions of dollars and contacts in high places could not save Jay Monahan, her beloved husband and father of their two children.

Heredity is one of the factors contributing to colorectal cancer, and unfortunately family history is not on my side. My grandmother died of colon cancer, and though he died of other causes, we believe my dad also had colon cancer.

There are so many things in this life that we have absolutely no control over, but I realized back then that I could take control of whether or not I would follow the best medical advice on how soon and how often to be screened for this killer. I was at the age when screening is recommended. To me it seemed like a no-brainer. Get proper screenings, catch potential problems in time, and live; or wait too long and have a significant risk of dying unnecessarily.

Sure enough, my first full colonoscopy revealed pre-cancerous polyps, which were easily removed as part of that procedure. That meant that I would need to be tested more often, and I have. The good news is that I’ve been polyp and cancer free the last couple of colonoscopies, including today. That means I’m probably safe to wait another five years before my next one.

Not to be overly dramatic, but I can’t help but wonder if I’d still be around to have this one today if I hadn’t started when I did.

For what it’s worth, having a colonoscopy is probably not as bad as you may think. The worst part is usually the prep day that includes going on a clear liquid diet and drinking a large volume of a diarrhea inducing solution to clean out your colon. This day before procedure has been improved each time I’ve done it, and this time really wasn’t that bad. The colonoscopy itself is quick and painless during and afterwards. I was put to sleep for a very short time, and within 30 minutes of the screening was enjoying a meat and three late lunch at Wade’s Restaurant. I even felt good enough to stop and buy a new Christmas tree for the kitchen on the way home.

So why am I making an exception and writing about this? Quite simply, I’m sure I have friends and acquaintances who need to be screened. The life you save may be your own. To widen that perspective, more so than saving my own life, I want to save the life of my wife’s husband, my children’s father, and my grandchildren’s grandfather.

While I was sitting in the waiting room today, a very good friend called to see if I wanted to meet him for lunch. When I explained why I couldn’t join him today, he admitted that he was now at that age when he needed to get a colonoscopy, too. I encouraged him not to put it off.

I encourage you to do the same. Do some research. Get educated. Even if you’re not at the age where you need one now (it can vary depending on various factors), you probably know and even love someone who needs to get with it before it’s too late.

It’s an easy way to help save some lives.

Charlie crosses final finish line

Kathy’s first words to me this morning at the kitchen table were “Your track friend died.”

At the same that I was asking “Who?” I was thinking it was probably Charlie Foster. Charlie wasn’t the only friend I made while running track, but he was definitely the one whose death would be the main story on the front page of the sports section. And not just in our local paper. News of his death was reported across the country.

When I started running track as a sophomore at Spartanburg High School, Coach Voyles said if I could get down to a certain time in the 120-yard high hurdles, I’d probably win all of my races. I got down to whatever that time was by our first track meet, but I didn’t come close to winning every race. One big reason was a guy named Charlie Foster who was also a sophomore at rival Gaffney High School.

The first time I ran against Charlie, I had no idea who he was, and based on our times coming into the meet, I was expected to win. The meet was at the Gaffney High School football stadium, which had no track. It was the only place in my whole career where everything was run on grass. No problem. But there was a problem at the finish line that I was totally not expecting since we usually just warmed up over the first few hurdles. Coming over the 10th and final hurdle, I was in the lead and confident of winning. As I looked toward the finish line, all of a sudden I saw something just beyond the stretched string I planned to break. Bleachers. Aluminum bleachers used during football season were sitting about 10 feet beyond the finish line. Are you kidding me?! How was I supposed to finish my sprint without crashing into those stupid bleachers? Consciously or unconsciously I made the decision to slow down as I approached the string. Charlie leaned forward and hit the string at full speed a tenth of a second ahead of me. He and another Gaffney runner ran up the bleachers as they had obviously done many times before. A third Gaffney runner in the outside lane maneuvered deftly around the bleachers.

I don’t remember exactly what I said or did, but I’m sure I was frustrated and mad. I probably complained to Coach Voyles that it was unfair. He probably agreed and said there was nothing we could about it. Just wait until we got to run them again at our place. It would be a different story at Wofford College where our home meets were held.

But not different enough. Charlie once again beat me by one tenth of a second. Thanks to the county meet, regionals, and various invitationals, I would run against Charlie quite a few more times that year. He beat me every time - each time by one tenth of a second.

Things changed our junior year, but not in my favor. I might have been a little bit better our second year, but Charlie was a lot better. A lot. Forget one tenth of a second. Our races weren’t even close. Charlie had become one of the best track athletes in the southeast. A serious case of mono my senior year meant my track career was over. A serious case of continued improvement by Charlie meant his was just getting started. He became one of the best high hurdlers in the country winning the 1971 Junior National Championship and tying the high school world record at the Golden State Relays.

Beyond high school, Charlie’s accomplishments were too numerous to mention here. They included winning the NCAA Championship, the US National Championship, a Gold Medal in the World University Games, and being top ranked in the world. He was favored to win the gold medal in the 1976 Olympics, but finished fourth thanks to a pulled hamstring if my memory is correct. After years of running on the world stage, Charlie (who somewhere along the way became Charles) had a long career coaching track at UNC, Clemson, and Virginia Tech.

Kathy referred to Charlie this morning as my track friend, and he was, but I can’t claim that I ever got to know him well. At all of our meets he competed in too many events to do much socializing. Though high hurdles was his specialty, he could do about anything track related and his team took great advantage of his talent. I remember in one dual meet Gaffney’s track coach knew that they needed every point to try to beat us, so he entered Charlie in the high jump hoping he might pick up a point. Though he had never competed in that event before that day, Charlie not only won the high jump but set the school record for it in the process. In track they do a first call, second call, and final call for athletes to gather at the starting line for their races. Because of competing is so many events, he was rarely at the blocks for first or second call, raising hopes that we might not have to run against him. Upon hearing final call he’d come trotting over probably from the long jump pit just in time to step in the blocks. Wherever he was, he was easy to spot. Our sophomore year he wore a white cap, which was replaced with a fur cossack hat our junior year. Even through his coaching days he was noted for his hats.

I’ll offer two conclusions to my memories of Charlie. Both are true so take your choice.

The Sentimental Conclusion: A few days ago, March 31, Charles Wayne Foster got the final call and crossed the finish line for the last time.

The What I Usually Think Of When I Think of Charlie Foster Conclusion: If it weren’t for those stupid bleachers I could say that I beat one of the best high hurdlers of all times.

RIP. Run in peace, Charlie.

Storm

(Much appreciation goes to Storm's mother and grandparents for their permission, blessings, and encouragement to share his story, and to Marion Humphrey for his help in many ways.)

I won't pretend for a second that I and our staff get as close to the students who come to Seesalt and Chillipepper as the adult leaders who bring them, much less as close to them as some of their family members and friends. But we do get close to many. We care about all them. A lot.

So the hurt is very real when we lose one of "our kids" as we did last week. Sadly, this is by no means the first time this has happened. I'm sorry to say that I have lost count not just of how many of our former students have passed away, but of how many met the Lord at Seesalt or Chillipepper and are now with Him. Some that committed their lives to Christ finished their earthly race even before the next year. That was the case with Storm.

I got the first message of Storm's passing from Marion, one of Storm's adult leaders, a few hours after he died. Marion and Sally, the church youth director, were also the first ones who told us about Storm when their group checked into our Seesalt summer student conference this past summer.  Storm had not previously been a part of their youth group but had shown up shortly before Seesalt to help out with a local mission project the group was doing. Marion and Sally had reached out to Storm in very caring ways. Marion gave Storm an old pair of worn out work gloves big enough to fit his hands.  No one had any idea what a special and important relationship had begun. When Storm heard the group was going to Seesalt, he asked if he could go with them, so he was added to the group at the last minute.

AT SEESALT

Marion and Sally told me that first day that they had some reservations about bringing Storm. They said Storm was a handful and lived up to his name. In addition to being unpredictable and sometimes hard to deal with, I learned that three weeks earlier Storm had put a loaded gun to his head. He still wasn't sure why he hadn't pulled the trigger. That, of course, meant we would all need to watch him even more carefully. (Sadly, that's something we've needed to do more times than you might think.) They hoped Storm wouldn't cause too many problems, but really felt like he needed to be there. I reminded Sally and Marion of something they'd heard me say for many years - if everyone just brought their perfect angels, it might make all of our jobs easier, but that's not why we do what we do. We know there are troubled teenagers in the world, and that's who we most need to be reaching.

The next morning, first-year Seesalt staffer Abbey came to me after Bible study groups had met. She told me that she had a guy in her group that had been extremely disruptive, and she wasn't sure she was going to be able to handle him. It wasn't hard to guess who it was. We reviewed some of the options we had talked about in training camp for dealing with students who are less than cooperative, and talked about what to do next. We concluded with a reminder that very often the students who are the biggest problems at the beginning of the week turn out to be the biggest reasons for joy by the end of the week. We prayed that would be the case with Storm.

I didn't actually figure out who Storm was until that night. Our theme this past summer was "Solid Rock," a 50's theme, and included a sock hop in the gym. (In case you aren't up on 50's culture, sock hops were dances that required removing your shoes so as to not scuff up the gym floor.) As I looked out across the gym at hundreds of people having a great time, I quickly noticed one guy who was not having a great time. I asked Kathy if that was Storm, and she verified that it was. Storm was one of the larger 15-year olds we've had with us. He towered over most of those around him, which only accented that he was not having fun. His obituary said he "did not know the meaning of hate or prejudice." This may have been the one exception, because I'm pretty sure Storm was hating the Bunny Hop. 

As the week continued, Storm was very much in our prayers and we saw steady signs of progress. One afternoon, Storm elected to go to the personal interest conference that Abbey was leading Afterwards he talked to her about how he had nearly killed himself a few weeks earlier. He said he was beginning to understand why he had not pulled the trigger.

At the end of our worship service on the last night of Seesalt, Storm responded to the invitation to make a commitment to the Lord. In the "chat room" with Marion, he invited Jesus Christ into his life as his personal Savior and Lord. When our staff learned later that night that Storm was one of the students who had committed his life to Christ, there were plenty of tears of joy and prayers of thanksgiving. 

The change in Storm was immediate and dramatic. Among other things, he was excited to tell anybody who would listen that he had become a Christian.  It's exciting to see those commitments at Seesalt, but the real test is what happens when we all go home. By all accounts, Storm passed that test with honors.

AFTER SEESALT

The next time I saw Storm was about a month later when Kathy and I were at his church to do an "Art to Heart" presentation. I had heard he was doing well, and I hoped he would be there so I could talk to him personally.  Before the service, I was in the restroom putting my headset mic on, and a big guy came busting through the door.

"Hey, Mr. Bill! I was at Seesalt this summer. I got saved! I don't know if you remember me or not, but I'm Storm!"  This excited, full-of-joy young man was not the same Bunny Hop hating guy I had seen at Seesalt. We talked for quite a while in the men's room, specifically about how he was doing spiritually and what he was doing to continue growing in his month-old faith. He had brought his family to the program that night, so he introduced them to Kathy and me, and we got the chance to talk with them for a while. 

At some point, Storm was baptized in a river, and was so much bigger than the preacher that he had to be baptized sitting in a chair.  Storm was at our Chillipepper conference in January, but I'm sorry to say that I didn't get much of a chance to talk with him beyond brief pleasantries. From talking to others, I know that Storm's desire to tell others about Jesus continued.  In recent months, his biggest concerns were that some of those closest to him would get their lives right with God as he had done.

The first message I got from Marion last week began: "Bill, I don’t know if you remember Storm form Seesalt at Mars Hill this past summer, he was the young man that had shared with Abbey about putting a gun to his head. It hurts to write you and let you know that Storm has gone home to be with his savior, Jesus." My heart broke. My immediate fear was that Storm had taken his own life. I was very convinced of the reality of his conversion, but I know that even genuine Christians still have problems and dark moments and do tragic things. 

Marion went on say that Storm had been found in the field beside his house where he had been running to get in shape for football. Preliminary investigation revealed "no signs of any trauma to his body." An autopsy was scheduled for two days later. Nothing would bring Storm back, but I prayed that the autopsy would not reveal more sad news.  Marion and Sally stayed in touch, and told me that Storm's father had died at an early age of complications from an enlarged heart. Nothing about Storm's life during the past eight-and-a-half months suggested anything other than that he was excited about living his life to the fullest, but the autopsy report was still a welcomed relief. Storm died of a massive heart attack. He had an enlarged heart, liver, and spleen. He died doing something he loved.

THE MEMORIAL SERVICE

Storm's family received friends in the church gym before the funeral. The first two people in the receiving line were his maternal grandparents - both Christians. When they found out Kathy and I were from Seesalt, they jumped up from their chairs, and with tears streaming hugged us like old friends. His grandmother said Storm had called her from Seesalt that night to tell her that he had been saved. He told her in great detail what he had done, how he was feeling, and they rejoiced together. His grandfather excitedly told us that Storm came back from Seesalt a totally different guy. He said the change was amazing, and that "he never changed back." Some of us talk a lot about how Jesus changes lives. I believe that with all my heart and mind, and I've seen it happen countless times. But it's always affirming to be reminded that it's not just talk and belief. It's real.

We spoke next to Storm's mother, who obviously loved her son with all her heart.  I immediately noticed that she was wearing his "Even if..." wristband that he had gotten at Chillipepper. It went along with a message I preached based on Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. It was a reminder that we need to remain faithful "even if" things don't turn out the way we want them to. Losing your only son, especially at such an early age, has to be one of the biggest "even if" challenges imaginable. Unless we've experienced that personally, I don't think any of us can fully understand or appreciate the hurt of a mom in such a situation. You can know that your son is in a better place far greater than we can imagine because of his faith in Jesus, but that still doesn't erase the sorrow. Please pray for Storm's mom and all those who will always miss him.

The church was packed for the funeral with people sitting in the choir loft, in added chairs, and in an overflow room near the sanctuary. Marion was one of those who spoke and he did a great job of telling how Storm came to know the Lord. He had been with him every step of the way. Others told of the change in Storm's life. It included his new love of contemporary Christian music which he shared with others, sometimes whether they liked it or not. Upon turning 16 in January he became a volunteer fireman, and around 30 of his fellow firefighters were on hand as his honorary escort.  It was mentioned that his goal was to become a football player and "become good enough so that when he did something good he could kneel down and give God the honor and credit."

Among the things written in the memorial service bulletin: "...He was bigger than life itself... A big bear of a young man with the most gentle heart... He lived his life full speed and all out... He loved and was loved tremendously..." 

The day of Storm's funeral was a rollercoaster of emotions. We laughed and we cried, sometimes at the same time. We talked with a lot of students and parents of students who had come to Seesalt and Chillipepper over many years. My thoughts were primarily on Storm and his family, but I couldn't help but also do a lot of serious reflecting on the larger implications of ministry. None of my thoughts were new, but they took on even more depth and weight.

I was reminded of why we do what we do. Ministry is not easy. At times there are challenges that make it hard to continue. I'm very much aware that there are others who can do what we do, but I was thankful that we've continued.

I'd like to think that we do some pretty good things at Seesalt and Chillipepper that make a difference, but I was reminded that none of what we do could make much of difference without faithful adult leaders in the churches which allow us to share in their ministry. Without faithful people like Sally and Marion, kids like Storm (or anyone else) would never come our way. They reached out to him, and cared for him, but that was just the start. There were times that Storm wasn't sure what was going on at Seesalt. Beyond our program and staff, he needed and had caring adult leadership to walk with him, love him, and guide him. And of course all that continued after our few quick days together were over. I have long sincerely said that people who work with teenagers are some of my favorite people in the world. My heroes are neither Marvel or D.C.

STRENGTH IN WEAKNESS

The fact that Storm considered taking his own life before he found his new life in Christ might be something that we'd like to forget about, but it is an important part of his story. It reminds us that God can rescue and restore us no matter how desperate we are.  It was interesting to hear how many of his friends described him as "care free," "loved by everyone," "without a worry in the world," etc.  It seems incongruous that anyone who was perceived as care free, without worries, and loved by everyone would considering ending his or her life. But it happens more than we'd like to think. The number of teenagers who take their own life is at an all-time frightening high. Even more make unsuccessful attempts, and far more seriously consider it.

I asked Marion if he knew why Storm had considered taking his own life. He did. They had talked about it a lot. The life of the party, throttle-wide-open kid that everyone knew and loved confided that at that point he felt like an outcast, that he didn't fit in, that nobody really cared about him. I know very few people who haven't felt like that somewhere along the way. Some of us feel it more strongly than others. There have always been people who cared about Storm and loved him deeply, but there was still something missing. Thankfully, even when Storm was at his lowest point, he found the strength to press on. He chose life. And as a result, four weeks later he chose life again - life that would be everlasting. Thanks to these two all-important decisions that Storm made, even in our sadness, we can celebrate the end of his time on earth.

We see people of all ages every day who are also in danger of being pulled under by their own private storms. Try to look beyond the smiles, the laughter, and the masks. We can't always tell who is hurting, so. to be on the safe side, it might be a great idea to love and care for everybody.

And how many reading this are in some degree of despair? At the risk of sounding simplistic, giving up is not the answer. There are people who care. And a God who cares more than we can imagine. He doesn't promise us a set length of life, but he does promise us a full and eternal life if we put our trust in Him.  

Storm found his life. I pray that his story encourages others that we can, too.