The Kingdom, The Kids, & the Cowboys

That’s not a clever title, I know. But that’s really all this post is: a bunch of pictures from our Saturday running of the Warrior Dash up in Roanoke. We had a blast. We enjoyed  a great sense of accomplishment. Other than scraped knees and sore legs, nobody got hurt. And we’ve got lots and lots of hilarious stories. I highly recommend Warrior Dash.

(A few months ago, things got weird with my blog. Some of the format changed and a lot of the ways I write and edit and insert pictures and articles changed. I haven’t been happy with it. I’m not at all comfortable with it. But I have no idea how to change any of it. This post looks horrible. And I don’t know how to fix it. I didn’t use to have any of these problems. Please bear with me. After today, I’m determined to get this fixed.)

This is the Legacy group that ran together in the 10:00 am wave Saturday morning. There were others of us that ran at 1:30 that afternoon and 6:00 that evening. But this was our little band of warriors. Ready for the challenge!

After wading through waist-deep water, climbing cargo net walls, leaping cars and trucks, scaling stacks of hay bales, and jumping over fire, we made it to the final obstacle: a giant pit of slimy mud. We had to get low in order to clear the barbed wire that ran over the mud. Naturally, this is where the crowds of spectators were gathered and where most of the best pictures were taken.

The most deflating, demoralizing part of the day was crossing the finish line, getting my medal of spectacular achievement, and seeing Hudson up on the banks, already showered and clean and dry and not a hair out of place. What a punk! Next year, Hudson. I’m keeping up with you next year.

I think the Warrior Dash is primarily targeted to a college-aged demographic that drinks more than just Diet Dr Pepper. But we had an absolute blast together. Carl Ball took some great pictures and some video and put together a funny little film we watched together at a BBQ place Saturday night. In just a five-hour time span the stories had been embellished and the details of the day exaggerated so that they were barely recognizable. Carrie-Anne’s going to run it with us next year. Carley’s chomping at the bit to turn 14 so she can enter. And I think our Legacy numbers may double or triple. Thanks to Greg Hardman for turning us on to Warrior Dash. Greg, if you find one in the fall, we’re in!

Peace,

Allan

We don’t ever come to the cross of Christ to worship his death or to remember the grisly details of that day. We come to the cross — we’re actually drawn to the cross — to see what it looks like for me to die. What is the meaning of my daily dying to myself and dying for Christ? And dying with Christ? What does it look like? How do I do it? And what does it really mean?

People say Jesus died so I don’t have to. No, that’s not right. Jesus died to show us how to.

As holy children of God and disciples of his Christ, we die every day. We participate every day in the eternal dimensions of Jesus’ death.

“I have been crucified with Christ…” ~Galatians 2:20

“I die every day — I mean that, brothers! ~1 Corinthians 15:31

“You died, and your life is now hidden with Christ.” ~Colossians 3:3

Dietrich Bonhoeffer famously wrote, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” We are called to participate in the death of Jesus. We don’t just stand around and ask questions about the death of Christ. We don’t just talk about it and marvel about it. We live it. The death of Jesus shapes everything about the way we live, how we believe and love, why we do what we do.

If we’re going to follow Jesus as his subjects — and we are! — then we’re going to follow him into the pain and darkness of Calvary where he faithfully and fully submitted to our Father’s will and gave his very life for the sake of the world.

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Tomorrow is Warrior Dash. And I’m not quite ready.

Warrior Dash is a 5K obstacle course highlighted by runs through waist-deep muddy water, climbs over cargo nets and 20-foot hay bales, crawls under barbed wire and through dirty ditches, and jumps over junk cars and pits of fire.

There are runs like this all over the place. Some of them are called Mud Runs. Some are called Jail Breaks. This Warrior Dash is held every year in Roanoke, just down the street from the Texas Motor Speedway. I’d never heard of this, or any other organized obstacle event, until last year when Greg Hardman and his daughter, Emily, ran it together with some of her college friends. His stories and his pictures were truly inspiring. I even used their experience to illustrate a sermon here last spring.

And several of us caught the fever.

Valerie and I made plans to start training in October. I was going to start eating right. I was going to start running more. (By more, I mean just start running. Period.) I was going to lose 15-pounds. I was going to lift weights and really be ready for this thing in April.

I’m not ready.

None of those things happened. Valerie and I have run together at the Northridge Middle School track a total of five times since the middle of February. We did two-and-a-half miles last night. We’re going to do three miles this evening.

We’re not ready. But we’re very much looking forward to it. Valerie has always been my little adventurer. She’s excited to be doing something so outrageous with her dad. And this will be something I’ll treasure with her forever.

There are at least a dozen of us from Legacy running the Warrior Dash in the morning: John & Suzanne, Bruce & Cathy, Mike & Lisa, Keith & Beth, Josh (who promises to stay right with me), Jason, Margaret, David and, from what I understand, a whole slew of our younger marrieds.

My goal is to finish in one hour or less. And to not have to be carried out in a stretcher.

Peace,

Allan

Fourteen years ago today God blessed our family with a round butterball of a baby girl. Valerie Nicole. She was bigger than she was supposed to be. Way big. Off the charts big. Almost too big. Doctors and other mothers there at South Austin Medical Center came from other wings and other floors to see this nine-and-a-half-pound baby. She absolutely dwarfed all the other infants in the hospital nursery. She looked really out of place. For a couple of days, Valerie was the center of attention there,  a minor celebrity. Carrie-Anne found herself, too, being discussed among strangers in the hallways as the little bitty lady who gave birth to this huge baby. It was funny. I had to drive back to Marble Falls to get some size 3-6 months clothes for Valerie to wear home from the hospital. The newborn-0-3-months were way too small.

Valerie was big.

I look at Valerie today and the word “big” still describes her.

Oh, no, not physically. Not at all. She weighs 90-pounds soaking wet. She’s a twig. In fact, that’s what I call her sometimes. Our Little Middle child. She’s tiny. Thin as a rail. You can’t believe how skinny and little she is.

It’s her personality that is so big. Funny. Loud. Outgoing. Talented. Still the center of attention. Laughing at everything. Leading the way. I drop her off at North Ridge Middle School in the mornings and at least a half dozen girls come running to her every time. She’s confident. She’s beautiful. She’s hilarious. Silly. Everybody likes being around her. I love being around her.

Her voice is big. Big and rich. Soprano. And Valerie lives to sing. Ancient hymns and classic German and Latin Renaissance pieces with her choir. Contemporary hymns and devotional songs with our church family and our small group and her youth group. The Guess Who and Taylor Swift, Aerosmith and Justin Bieber in the car and in her room. She loves to sing. And I love listening to her.

Her heart is big. Generous. Sacrificial. Selfless. She really does put the needs of others first. Usually. She adores little kids. She can color with them, cook for them, play games with them, teach them, and never grow tired. Her heart was created, I think, to work with little kids. Sensitive. Man, she’s really sensitive, too. Ultra-sensitive to the needs of others. She can tell when somebody else is hurting. And it makes her sad. And it compels her to try to do something about it. She cries at chick-flicks and every time somebody dies on Little House on the Prairie (which is every episode). But the true bigness of her heart shows when she cries because somebody else near her is hurting. I see our God’s compassion reflected in my Val Pal. And I love it.

She’s at a funny age right now. Old enough to put on the makeup every morning and be very concerned about what she’s wearing. Old enough to roll her eyes at me when I say something corny. Old enough to show responsibility in serious matters. But still young enough to wear rainbow-striped toe-socks up to her knees, crawl around on the floor pretending to be some made-up animal, and watch Scooby Doo cartoons ’til noon on Saturday.Still young enough, too, to be thrilled when I eat lunch with her at school. Still happy to see me coming.

Oh, Valerie. You are something else, girl. God has blessed you tremendously with a big personality, a big heart, a big beautiful voice, and tons of huge potential. The possibilities for you are absolutely endless. I’m so proud of you. And I can’t wait to see how this thing turns out.

Happy Birthday. I love you.

Dad

Who knew the Cowboys season would be over before the Rangers’? How many points would the Giants have scored if they hadn’t had five turnovers? How long until Wade reminds us that, “Hey, it’s not like we haven’t won a single game!” I think a lockout/strike is the best thing Jerry Wayne can hope for. He may be trying to figure out how to make it happen today.

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We spent right at 24 hours in Marble Falls this past weekend, helping the church family there celebrate their 65th anniversary and homecoming and grand opening of their brand new church building. And for most of those 24 hours, I was an emotional wreck. I was really surprised by my own reactions to being in that place with those people. It caught me off guard.

Carrie-Anne and I spent seven years in this place with these people when I was the News and Sports Director at KHLB from 1991-98. We went to football games together. We had babies together. We sang at funerals together. We rang in new years, we visited hospitals, we coached T-ball, we fished and fixed cars and worshiped God together. We survived a tornado together. Whitney and Valerie were both born into that church family. I was a deacon and led worship with that group of Christians. We prayed with the Clarks. We laughed with the Futrells. We painted Cathy Chrismon’s house. We roofed Dan’s houses. We went Christmas caroling. We taught VBS. Donna Preston helped us buy our first home on Hackberry Drive. From Bessie Ruth.

And when we left in 1998 for the greener pastures of sports talk radio on WHBQ in Memphis, Buck Burdett told me we’d be back.

I swore we wouldn’t.

But in 2005, needing a place to live and work while I received my Master’s Degree at Austin Grad, I called up Don Graves. And they welcomed us back with open arms. It wasn’t so much that they hired me part-time as it was they agreed to help support us as I studied. We moved right into Kyle and Marti’s rent house. And right back into that church family.

I was youth minister for a stretch. Worship leader. Preacher. Interim preacher. Bible class teacher. Men’s minister. Involvement minister. And I learned. And learned. And learned. I worked alongside Jim Gardner as he became the new preacher there. I watched Jimmy Mitchell pour his heart and soul into our kids. I sat at the feet of Jim Dobbs and benefitted greatly from his wisdom and experience and encouragement and love. During those 22 months, I learned as much in and with the Marble Falls church as I did at Austin Grad.

And now here we were again on Sunday. Back in Marble Falls. Back with these people who have shaped us and loved us and supported us and taken care of us.

I forget how much I really love them until I’m right in the big middle of them.

I’ve never hugged and been hugged so much in all my life as I was Sunday. The hugs just kept coming and coming and coming. Carrie-Anne and I truly felt loved. And appreciated. And valued. We felt like we really belonged. It felt — in a weird way that part of me hates to admit — like home.

How do you make it through “It Is Well With My Soul” in the middle of all that?

We love our church family in Marble Falls. And we pray for all of you God’s richest blessings of grace and peace.

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I’ll try to spend the next couple of posts getting caught up on a variety of things. Again, thanks for your patience with the blog. It’s been a weird past couple of weeks. I still don’t have this thing totally where I want it. But we’re getting there.

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Where were you when the Rangers won the pennant? We were in our living room, watching history unfold together as a family. The microfiber couches were cold since we’d all been standing since the beginning of the eighth inning. I couldn’t hardly concentrate during the ninth, I was so completely distracted by the losers behind home plate who were holding up that huge Texas flag — upside-down! I kept thinking surely somebody would notice and tell them to turn it right-side-up. I was upset that we would be watching the highlights of the last out for the rest of our lives and the Texas flag in the background was going to be upside-down. I was beside myself with the joy of anticipating the perfect poetic justice of Alex Rodriguez making that last out. What could possibly be better than A-Fraud swinging and missing to push the Rangers (it’s just him and 24 kids, remember?) into the World Series? How delicious! And then he actually struck out looking! Even better! Absolutely, wonderfully, deliriously better!

We exchanged high fives and hugs. Steve Fleming called Whitney to offer his congratulations. We grinned as the trophy was presented to Wash and Nolan and JD. We nodded with approval as Josh Hamilton collected the MVP award and, instead of talking about himself, talked about his teammates.

Then Whitney and Carley and I piled in the car to head out to Academy to get our official Rangers World Series T-shirts. We stood in line for just over an hour with hundreds and hundreds of other long-suffering Rangers fans who just couldn’t believe what was happening. It still didn’t seem real to any of us. We cheered and chanted as the line snaked through the parking lot and around the building. Horns were honked. We saw the Flemings and Brightwells and Drakes and even Wayne Steele. The girls saw a couple of their friends and teachers from school. Are the Rangers really in the World Series? They must be. That’s what my T-shirt says.

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Saturday morning, Valerie and I left at 7:00 for the All-Region Middle School Choir auditions in Arlington. 7:00 Saturday night we got the email notifying us that she had made it! God has given Val a beautiful soprano voice and a desire to use it to his glory. And we couldn’t be happier or more proud.

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Leaving town Saturday afternoon on the way to Marble Falls, we drove through the tornado on Loop 820. I knew something was weird. The sky looked ominous and there was an unusual amount of debris flying through the air. But it wasn’t until traffic stopped and we eventually crawled up to the twisted exit signs that we realized it was more severe than just a thunderstorm. We got past the jam, turned on the radio, and listened to Brad Barton talk about the tornado that was moving through Richland Hills and into Euless. Good gravy, we had driven right through it! Jennifer Gambill, our children’s minister who lives just four or five streets away, was just unpiling the mattresses and emerging from her closet when I called. Everything was fine.

There were clear skies yesterday afternoon when the high winds split a tree on Holiday Lane and pushed it on top of our van as I was driving to Richland High School to pick up Whitney. Carley was in the front seat with me.  I was driving about 30 m.p.h., in the right lane, when I commented to Carley about how crazy windy it was. And just a second or two later, the tree blew over right on top of us. She screamed. I reached out to brace her. It was so loud. I thought her window had shattered. It was so weird. And unexpected. Who has a tree fall on top of their car while they’re driving?!? The window wasn’t broken. But the car is scratched up from the headlights to the rear window. And Carley’s heartbeat just now got back down to normal.

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Finally, Carley’s elementary choir marched and performed in last night’s Richland High School Homecoming parade. We saw Lisa Clifton in the Chick-Fil-A truck with the cows. The creepy female Rebel mascot with the empty eyes. Several friends from church and school. And a bunch of homemade signs that declared allegiance to Richland High AND a nod to the Texas Rangers. It’s cool when the football team is giving the claw to the parade-watchers.

Peace,

Allan

It’s been a full eleven days since my last post. Sorry. Thank you. Let’s get caught up.

(As always, click on the images to get the full size)

We had a fantastic couple of days at LTC over the April 2-3 weekend. Lots of gold, silver, and bronze brought back to Legacy from the DFW Hyatt. My favorite part of Leadership Training for Christ is going to as many of the events as possible and cheering on all our kids. Encouraging them. Telling them what a great job they did. Recognizing in them the great gifts they have from God and seeing in them all the wonderful ways our Father will use them to his eternal glory. I love laughing with them and patting them on the back and hugging them after a job well done. Our teachers and volunteers do a great job with LTC here at Legacy. And the kids always respond with award-winning performances.

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Our four-day Resurrection Renewal was a God-glorifying, Church-edifying, Gospel-verifying event that started Easter Sunday morning with 1,200 men, women, and children lifting our hearts and voices to God in praise and thanksgiving for the empty tomb. Four days of participating in the Resurrection accounts from Holy Scripture. Four days of basking in the power of the Resurrection and gaining new strength in our Resurrection hope.

Two brand new souls experienced their own resurrections Wednesday evening as they were buried with Christ and raised to walk in newness of eternal life. Five of our brothers and sisters publicly confessed their sins and asked for the prayers of their church family as they declared their own new beginnings.

I’m so proud of my Legacy family. We baked cookies and served refreshments. We greeted visitors and held doors. We organized and taught fun interactive children’s classes. We invited our friends. We wore empty tomb T-shirts and passed out flyers. We were/are the kind of church family — the kind of Resurrection Community — to which anyone would want to belong.

And it’s not over.

I’m so encouraged by the conversations I’m overhearing in the hallways during and following our Resurrection Renewal. We’re thinking and talking about the right things. Our attention at Legacy is shifting from an inward to an outward focus, from one of being served to one of serving others. This is just the start. We’re going to keep inviting our friends to Legacy. We’re going to keep talking about the Resurrection. We’re going to keep paying more attention to the lost than to the saved. And we’re going to remember that the Resurrection is not simply something we sing about or teach. It’s not something we merely believe. The Resurrection is who we are.

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By the way, many of you have been asking about the three-minute video we showed at the end of the sermon Easter Sunday morning. The audio was from a sermon preached by S. M. Lockridge called “The Seven-Way King.” The video images were produced and edited by Albert Martin. Jeff Walling has used the video on several ocassions at WinterFest and the Tulsa Workshop. You can check out the video again by clicking here.

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For the second time in three years, Whitney wound up winning the annual Stanglin Bracket Racket. She correctly picked Duke to win it all and edged me out by a total of six points in our family college basketball pool.

I kept hoping and waiting for the Hoosiers miracle. I kept wishing for Shooter to show up and coach the Butler Bulldogs into a picket fence play with Jimmy Chitwood / Gordon Hayward hitting the game-winner at the buzzer. Only in the movies, I guess.

Whitney also, last January, correctly predicted the winner and the final score of the Super Bowl. Seriously! She not only chose the double-digit underdog Saints to beat the Colts, she picked the exact final score! We’re taking her to Vegas tomorrow. Or maybe to the QT to at least buy a couple of lottery tickets.

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We got to see lots of old friends this past Saturday night at the annual Oklahoma Christian University Alumni and Fundraising dinner here at Legacy. It was the biggest North Texas dinner to date. Tons of money raised and pledged for the new Bobby Murcer Athletics center and for scholarships to deserving DFW kids. The highlight for me was catching up with my old Delta buddies and reliving our quests for All-Sports trophies and Spring Sing laughs. What OC event would be complete without a Delta Alumni photo?

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Whitney and Valerie were in Glenrose for a youth retreat. Carrie-Anne stayed in bed. So Carley accompanied me early, early, early Sunday morning to the Red Lot on the northeast side of Texas Stadium to witness in person the implosion of that iconic landmark. We woke up at 4:00am, got there at 5:15, (we handed the parking lot attendant $25, he handed us four boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese) and worked our way to the front of the barricades to hear — and feel — the concussions of the dynamite and suck the concrete and steel dust into our lungs.

I still can’t really imagine that Texas Stadium doesn’t exist anymore. My aunt LouAnn took me to my first ever Cowboys game in that building when I was twelve. I saw Drew Pearson’s consecutive-games-with-a-catch streak end in a close win over the Patriots there with Paul Barron. I wore my blue Roger Staubach jersey. Paul politely asked me to stop yelling so much through my Cowboys popcorn container which doubled as an effective megaphone. I think the people in front of us were giving us looks. When I was 15, Mike Cunningham and I got thrown out of an SMU-Texas Tech game there for dropping ice cubes off the second deck. When I was 16, Todd Johnson and I froze to death there in a miserable January Cowboys playoff loss to the Rams. I remember a two-touchdown fourth quarter performance by Chuck McSwain there in a pre-season win over the Dolphins. I remember a wild Sunday night shootout with the Raiders with five other high school friends. We jeered Marc Wilson and I ate too many bugles. And I was in the stands when a rookie Troy Aikman outpassed Dan Marino in a close loss in ’89.

I was also blessed to roam the sidelines, pressboxes, and underground tunnels at Texas Stadium for four seasons as a radio reporter for KRLD and AM 990. I ate my meals across the hall from the locker room. I ticked off Bill Parcells and made Terrence Newman laugh. I squeezed through the crowds to interview quarterbacks and linebackers and enjoyed leisurely conversations with offensive linemen and kickers. I rode elevators with movie stars and singers. I met Tex Schramm there. I shared work space with the giants in the sports media industry, some of them my heroes of the past and present. I was there when a Thanksgiving Day halftime performer caught on fire. And I was part of the standing ovation when Emmitt Smith passed Walter Payton.

Even after watching it completely collapse into a pile of debris yesterday, I still can’t really imagine that Texas Stadium is gone. I saw Tom Landry coach there. I saw Staubach throw and Tony run. I can still see the end zone scoreboard flash “Martinized!” after a huge Harvey Martin sack. I can still hear Tanya Tucker’s “When I Die” after every Cowboys touchdown. And I can still hear Tommy Loy’s trumpet playing the national anthem.

Thank you, Carley, for going with me and for screaming, “That was awesome!” at the top of your lungs when Texas Stadium was demolished. Forgive your dad for not feeling the same way.

Peace,

Allan

…just what I needed.

Valerie Nicole turns 13 today. Our “Little Middle” is, officially now, a teenager.

Oi.

Thirteen years ago today, at South Austin Medical Center, Carrie-Anne almost died giving birth to this massive child. Nine-and-a-half pounds and a bowling ball head. Huge blue eyes. Alert. Soaking in all her surroundings even before we could cut the cord. I’ll never forget the way she amazed me in those first couple of minutes of her life. I’d never seen a new-born like this. She looked like she was already two or three months old. And she was acting like it, too. As I held her and sang “Eight Days a Week” and “Love Me Do” to our second daughter, she locked her eyes right into mine. It was almost like she was ready to talk.

Or sing.

Valerie’s a singer. She has a beautiful voice and she loves to sing. She knows all the words to songs she’s only heard once. She sings in her room, in the car, in the shower, everywhere. She’s in the choir at North Ridge Middle School. She sings every year at LTC. I love listening to Valerie sing.

Valerie’s also an adventurer. She’s not afraid of anything except casseroles and vegetables. I have no idea how that girl survives on such a strict diet of grilled-cheese and french fries. An exclusive diet of grilled-cheese and french fries. Valerie’s a joker. She’s hilarious. She keeps us in stitches with her Erkel impersonations and her funny faces. She’s a social butterfly. A social butterfly on steroids. Three out of every four phone calls at our house — incoming and outgoing — are for Valerie. And she’s sensitive. She has a wonderful heart for people and their concerns and needs. She shows the same compassion and attention to Dorothy Allred as she does to Laiklyn Gray. A lot.

And she wants to be baptized. She wants to give her life to our Lord.

Man. How great is that? We’re going to start talking and praying together about that tomorrow.

Valerie’s not huge anymore. That stopped being the case by about the time she turned three. Valerie’s a twig. Earlier this week at the doctor’s office she weighed in at a whopping 81.8 pounds. She’s skinny as a rail. Bony. The girl won’t eat. There’s nothing big about her.

Except her heart. Her heart is huge. And it’s growing. Her heart for little kids. Her heart for those who are hurting. Her heart for people in need. Puppy dogs on Animal Planet. Lonely classmates in the lunchroom. I love what I see at work in her. I’m thankful to our God for what I see developing in her.

Our Father in heaven has huge plans for this girl. He’s got a mission for her and good works already prepared for her that are far beyond anything we’ve thought about yet. I know he does. I can tell. Valerie is special. She’s got gifts. God-given gifts that belong only to her.

We love you, Val-Pal. Happy Birthday!

Dad