Joshua’s Take

Posted on February 21, 2012 by Phil Valentine

Recently, I wrote piece about how Joshua’s last high school soccer season ended, see “Joshua Finishes Strong.  Does His Dad?”  After the season, Joshua earned several awards; the MHS Comeback Player of the Year, All-Conference and All-Academic Conference Honors.  He wrote the following speech for the soccer awards banquet.  Here’s what he said.

To my brothers, the All Stars:

We grew up playing together.  I loved soccer because of you guys.  It certainly wasn’t because we won every game.  First season I think we lost every game except for one.  But it was being able to grow as players and young men that made it so special.  Four years after that season, we ended up going to the State finals where we lost 1-0.  It was heartbreak, but it also showed how far we’ve come.  I mean Manny, you used to be this plump kid who could only toe ball it, but now look at you.  You’re jacked, and you scored two of the sickest goals I’ve seen in high school.  And Tyler, you used to be that sweeper who tried to dribble everyone, but now you’re one of the best forwards and you always look to pass first.  I could go on, but I just want you guys to see how much we’ve grown together, and how we’ll always be family, soccer or not.

To my parents:

Mom, I think you became the epitome of a soccer mom.   Early on, I’m not so sure you understood the first thing about soccer.  But you tried to learn because soccer was so important to me.  And I think, if we compare now to ten years ago, you’ve come a long way.  What I truly valued though was your encouraging words before or after a game.  There would be times when I had an awful game, but you could care less.  You were with me when Matt told me I had torn my ACL.  You cried with me, and that was all I really needed.  You never loved me because I was good at soccer, but because I was your son.  That was truly a blessing to have, and I’m so thankful for that.

Dad, where to start…  I think it’s safe to say I wouldn’t be the player or person I now am without you.  I think the All Stars would agree that you’re the best coach we ever had.  You didn’t know much about the game at first either, but you knew how to coach.  You let us play and figure it out ourselves most of the time.  We had some memorable travel games too.  I remember we were playing in the freezing rain one time, and all of us came off the field at half in tears.  The other coach refused to call off the game, so you had us all walk off the field and go home.  You didn’t let a desire to win control you.  The boys on the team always came first to you.  Then there was one game against South Windsor.  Dylan had gotten a red card for nailing this not-nice kid out of bounds in a mistimed tackle, but rather than be mad, you told him you were proud of him for defending his teammates and playing aggressively.  Those small things don’t go unnoticed.  Then I moved on to Oakwood, and you were at every game, whether it was in Maryland or Maine.  You probably would have went to Argentina too, if you could.  You were there for my ups and downs, for that indoor season when I couldn’t settle a pass and I hated going to practice, and that outdoor season when I finally came into my own.  Last year was rough for you, but after I tore my ACL, you were there, and you too mom.  I think I might have been a little more scared of my surgery if you hadn’t been there making jokes about how I looked in a hospital gown.  So I guess overall what I’m trying to say is that you were the greatest coach I ever had, but you were always my dad first.

I love you guys, and this ten-year journey would have been impossible without you.

 

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Walk. Or Die.

Posted on February 4, 2012 by Phil Valentine

I was lying in bed one November morning,
trying to decide whether to go back to sleep or get up and walk.  Putting my mind into prayer mode, “Lord - what do
you think?”

Walk.  Or Die. 

WHAT?

The prompting was so clear, issued with pure authority.  There were just two choices.  Walk.  Or die.  I scrambled out of bed, got dressed quickly and walked for an hour.  I did the same thing for several mornings in a row.

Over the Holiday break, I was not as diligent about the physical walking, but as of the New Year, my goal is to put 500 miles on these legs in 2012.  10 miles a week for 50 weeks = 500 miles for 2012.  The training for my March 19, 2015 departure date from Springer Mountain, GA continues.   The Appalachian Trail still beckons incessantly.

God is so far beyond my understanding; it’s ridiculous.  As He should be.  He delivers messages that are simple.  Simple does not mean shallow says my sponsor.  Indeed these words have tremendous depth for me.  They are just three words, two periods.  Walk.  Or Die.  The immediate implication is for me to get my ass out of bed and exercise.  I believe strongly that I need to be physically fit, if I’m not I will die sooner than later.

When I am in good physical condition, my mind works well too, my emotions are under control and my conscious contact with God is better.   So why do I let my conditioning go at times?  I could go into some complex psychological mumbo jumbo here – but I get lazy at times.  No grandiose excuse, just lazy.  I do walk to church every Sunday now, 3 miles on the dot.  Thinking about walking to work once in a while too (7.6 miles).

This message relates to my recent bout with tongue cancer as well.  I walked through it.  If I stopped, would I have died?  In the high school Bible study in my home, the boys memorized Psalm 23 – King James Version.  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” I wonder, what would have happened if he stopped walking?

Which makes me wonder, if I stop working the steps of Alcoholics Anonymous (they are called steps for a reason), will I die?

Phillip – the answer is clear, isn’t it? 

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Task Mountain

Posted on January 21, 2012 by Phil Valentine

I was going through some old files and dug this up from 2006.  I guess I didn’t like it so much then, I never “published” it.  But here it is today….

My eyes were moist as soon as I walked into the sanctuary.  The tears tumbled off my cheek just from reading the program. The name of the message was “Prodigal Daughter” and love welled up inside of me for my daughter away at school.  My throat was tight, so choked up I couldn’t sing.  The music was so powerful, so beautiful.  It was all I could do to not sob.

What was going on?

I still have some manly pride left, but that’s been changing as my opinion of what a “real” man is changes.  I’m fairly certain that real men do cry.  Except when they’re having a bullet removed with no anesthesia, then real men don’t cry.  They just bite on a stick.  This service was crowded and I was a little self-conscious, yet I still couldn’t stop the tears.  God was working on me, why couldn’t He just leave me alone?

I sat quietly during the prayer time reluctantly seeking His will.  I closed my eyes, and a picture came to me.  Me, clinging to a mountain.  Fear dominated the picture, in fact I was frozen because of fear.  I couldn’t move up, or down, or sideways.  Fog surrounded me, yet the fog was all blue.  Lightning flashed in the clouds.  I struggled against the wind and rain, but the scenes were all in shades of blue.  My fingers were cramped from gripping the rock tenaciously.  My legs were trembling.  I had a sense I had been holding on for a long, long time.  For some reason, I relaxed.  I gave up.  I let go.  I willingly fell backwards off the mountain.  I just couldn’t hold on any more.  I prepared to fall, but instead of falling, I floated.

Instead of crashing, He caught me.

How did I get to this point where I needed to let go of the mountain?  Several days later, more was revealed.  It goes back many years.  Back to when I was deep in the cesspool of addiction.  Picture a huge, round concrete drain hole.  There are people in it like me, drowning and gasping.   It’s filled with addiction paraphernalia; a witch’s brew of razor blades, pipes and needles stewed in lies, deception and obliteration.  Stir in dirty money, disease and filth.  The swirling soup is stained dark with blood and excrement.  The deeper you go, the darker and thicker it gets.  The liquid churns and swirls.  How I ever got in it, I’m not sure?  The longer I stay in it, the further it sucks me down.  If I wondered how I got in, you can bet that I sure as heck didn’t know how to get out.  I wanted out, but the only way was to cry out.

In desperation, I cried out.

I reached out and I grabbed something.  “What I thought was a flimsy reed turned out to be the loving and powerful hand of God.”  He brought me to the edge of that swirling cesspool and I found a solid step, the first step.  I regained my composure and stood on the edge.  I looked up and saw 11 more steps out of the cesspool.  And I climbed them.  I made it to flat ground, gained some perspective, was able to look at where I came from and vowed never to fall back into that hole.  I would avoid the hole at all costs.

Surveying the surrounding landscape, I saw things to climb, to get me further away from the hole in the ground.  I was excited.  I wanted to know what I could do.  There was plenty.  There were dozens and dozens of recovery books I could read.  I did.  I could attend many meetings.  I did.  I could go on retreats.  I did.  Every time I finished one of these things, great or small, I was climbing up the mountain.  The same thing happened when I jumped back into church.  I could read many books on religion, on Christianity, what it means to be a Christian man.  Every time, I served, or read, or attended, or journaled, I thought it was another step upward.

Was I climbing toward my God?

Or was I really just trying to put more and more distance between me and the cesspool?  Was I filling my life up with tasks, a mountain of tasks, and making that the purpose of my life?  In my fervor to get closer to God, had my life become a series of things to check off.  I got pretty high on the mountain, or so I thought.  But did I lose sight of God because my face was too close to the mountain, to Task Mountain?  Until I found myself weathering the storm, clinging to the rock, cringing in fear until I let go.

He’s got me now.  And I’ve gotten more done lately than I have in a long, long time.

“Be still and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10

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Joshua finishes strong. Does his dad?

Posted on December 27, 2011 by Phil Valentine

I don’t even know how to write about it.  It’s taken me more than a month to process what I’ve been feeling.  Where to start?

I may have watched Joshua play his last competitive soccer match.

It hurts.  

Joshua at the CT Senior Bowl 11-27-2011

Sandy and I sat in the stands on a beautiful late November Sunday watching Joshua play in the Connecticut high school Senior Bowl.  This was a statewide all star game for seniors.  Joshua said he was nervous but he sure didn’t look like it.  He played with confidence, quickness and poise.  He assisted on his team’s one goal.  The kid has always played well in the big games.

Before that, he played heroically in Manchester’s last game against a heavily favored Staples side  (out of Westport), a gut-wrenching 1-0 overtime loss.  And thus, Manchester was out of the state tournament in the first round, their season over, and Joshua’s high school soccer career done.

And before that, Joshua showed us the stuff he is made of.  On October 26th, Manchester was down 2-1 to Windsor.  They scored the tying goal, then with 4 minutes remaining, Joshua ripped a left-footed shot that found the back of the net and Manchester wins 3-2.  That would end up being the last goal Manchester scored before a freak October snowstorm wiped out the last two regular season games.  It was also his team’s last goal of the 2011 season.  Even more remarkable though was that goal marked to the day the one-year anniversary from when he had ACL replacement surgery on that very same left knee.  Yep, a storybook ending in a lot of ways.

So why am I hurting?  What do I think about this?

Five years old and focused.

I am struggling with the passage of time.  I have heard that childhood passes so quickly, enjoy it while they’re home.  It’s one of those things where you say “yeah, yeah, yeah” until it happens to you.  Recovery has taught me to live one day at a time.  But I can’t believe so many days have gone by!  I remember him playing at every age; we have hundreds of photos of him playing and thousands of memories.  Can it be that photos and memories will be all I have now?  Joshua has made it clear that he’s not interested in playing at the next level – too much pressure when he wants to focus on his studies.  (For the record – when I was that age, I don’t think I ever entertained a notion like that).   But I keep hoping, that because of his intense love of the game, he might play again.  Or should I just let it go?

Am I OK with how it all ended? 

After all, Joshua is an amazing young man!  He handled a severe injury with maturity, resolve and inspiring determination.  He worked his butt off to get to that moment where he could strike with the left foot.  He played without fear.  He led his team as Captain.  He is an impressive young man.  I couldn’t be more proud and I couldn’t love him more.

Whatever he decides to do, he filled my memory banks with joy, wonder and amazement.  Could a dad ask for anything more?  And even though the future may be different, even though his competitive soccer days may be over, I have to believe the best is yet to come.

This is the heart of the matter, isn’t it?  This is why I’m struggling.  I have 17 years in as Joshua’s dad, 24 years of personal recovery and 52 years of life under my belt.  Do I believe, really believe, that for me, my best is yet to come?

I like to think so, but I’m just not sure…

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Our Trip to the UK

Posted on December 6, 2011 by Phil Valentine

Here’s a link to an interview Sandy and I conducted by Bill White.  It was a trip of a life time.

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Progress, Not Perfection

Posted on May 21, 2011 by Phil Valentine

I’ve been blessed to coach a few soccer teams over the last ten years.  I believe effective coaching is not so much about winning or losing, but progress.  John Wooden pointed out that his team might have played better and with more effort in a one-point loss than a forty-point blowout.

I coach the Nederlands, in the under-nine boys division of the Manchester, Connecticut recreation league.  They proudly wear bright orange.  Frankly, these boys are not the most talent-laden bunch I’ve ever seen, but they are eager to learn.  For a coach, this is best.  We have been practicing dribbling with speed, showing for the ball and passing.  The boys took their lessons to the field today.

The team won eight to one and Matthew scored our first three goals.  How?  He showed for the ball, received a pass, speed dribbled toward the goal and finished well.  Later in the game, Matthew passed to open teammates, giving up shots for himself, so others could score.  Unselfishness at it’s best.  I couldn’t have been more proud of my boy.

Considering we got pounded our first two games, the post-game smiles were well earned.  They are making progress.

I first heard the concept, “progress not perfection” in recovery.  Thank God, people in recovery didn’t assess my talent, or insist that I win.   All that was required for me to participate was a “desire to stop drinking”.  I was also told to be honest, open and willing.  Coaches know that if their players are striving to get better (progress), the results take care of themselves.

The Nederlands proved it again today.  Well done boys!

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And so it begins…

Posted on May 20, 2011 by Phil Valentine

“And so it begins…”

Those are the words Sandy emailed me when I sent her this pic.  I took my first steps ever on the Appalachian Trail today.

It was really cool.

Rick and I hiked up Bear Mountain in the northwest corner of Connecticut.  We covered six miles.  Some of it was on the AT (about one and a half miles).

It was strenuous (so said the trail guide).  I only fell once, when my wet shoes skidded out from under me.  I landed on my butt and hands, no big deal. I slightly rolled each of my ankles on the way down too.  It felt like my new hiking shoes were forcing my weight to the outside.  Do other people feel this too?  Or am I imagining stuff? My knees were aching on the way down and now I’m tired, a little stiff and a little sore.

I can’t wait to do it again.

I loved the exertion on the way up.  The view from the top was awesome.  Picking my way down a wicked descent was fun.  The peace from completing the hike comforted me.

I only hiked six miles though.  With a very light pack.  In order to thru-hike the AT, I have to average fifteen a day with  a lot more weight.

I’ve got a lot more training to do.

Considering where I was a year ago, I am amazed with the ground I covered today.  Thank you, Lord.

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Thumb up? Or thumb down?

Posted on May 6, 2011 by Phil Valentine

“Resentment disintegrates the vessel in which it is carried.” ~ Unknown

The gladiator is poised to strike.  He looks at the emperor.  Thumb up?  Or thumb down?

I’m faced with countless opportunities to make judgments about people all day, every day.  I have a little emperor in my head constantly ready to cast a vote.  I don’t always respond in the most loving manner.

So, how do I handle situations where someone’s behavior has not met my expectations? Do I become resentful, vengeful and give them a thumb down?  Or do I operate from a position of mercy – thumb up?

Mercy is better.

When I walked into the rooms of recovery, I was shown a lot of mercy.  People accepted me as I was.  And I was a mess.  I didn’t feel like they judged me, or condemned me for being hopelessly addicted.  I have been shown mercy on many other occasions.  Family, friends, the court, the authorities – over the years, I have gotten less punishment than I deserve.

Who am I not to have mercy?

I think I am pretty willing to forgive things.  Yet… I practice conditional forgiveness.   For example, if I perceive defiance, arrogance or lack of remorse, I lean toward vengeance.

For some reason I find it hardest to practice mercy at home.  Why is that?  I know I am getting better.  I think I often have unreasonable expectations of those closest to me.   At my worst, my “thumb down” response is to turn a cold shoulder.  I shut down.  After all, that is the way of an evolved spiritual being.  But when I hold mercy in my heart, things go better.  For me.  And for my family.

I get a little concerned when I think about God looking at my behavior?  Thumb up?  Or thumb down?

Lord, vengeance is yours.

But please have mercy on me.

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Fitting the Pieces Together

Posted on March 24, 2011 by Phil Valentine

I’ve got some more trim work to do.  Some staining.  Some painting.  But it’s pretty much done.  Thanks to Shortcast, we transformed a section of a typical concrete basement into a home office for Sandy.  It looks pretty good if I do say so myself.  Just don’t look too closely at the finish work.  If Mike from Holmes on Homes shows up, he’ll laugh.

I did a lot of things I hadn’t done before.  Like putting up framed walls, sheetrocking, plastering and sanding, installing a drop ceiling, laying down laminate flooring and building a staircase.  I found myself whiling away the hours, listening to music (mostly 70’s stuff), not hurrying, not beating myself up when it didn’t go right, enthralled with “figuring it out”.  A few YouTube videos helped too.

I really like fitting puzzle pieces together.  With construction you get to make the pieces, too.

During this time, I thought a lot about my life and where I was twenty-four years ago.  When I first ventured into recovery my life was more or less a shambles.  I had to start from scratch and build a new life.  I had to re-create myself.  Literally, I had to pick up the pieces.  Near the end of my addiction, I was a husband, a father, a homeowner and a golf professional.  In the early recovery years I trudged through a divorce, tried to be a dad even though my daughter did not live with me, ended up moving back home with my mom and worked a series of different jobs.  Today, I have been married (to the same woman)  for seventeen years, parented five incredible kids, owned a home for fifteen year and been employed by the same agency for twelve more.  The puzzle pieces I put together built a stable life filled with peace and contentment.

Until a year ago when I was diagnosed with cancer.

The treatment rocked me more than the diagnosis.  Physically, emotionally, spiritually.  As I put the pieces together in the remodeling project, it had more to do with me putting myself back together.  I had to re-create myself again, even though I really didn’t want to.   To rebuild takes a lot of patience.  One piece of flooring, one ceiling tile, one section of trim – all have to be thought out and fitted.  Some take a lot longer than others.

As my conscious mind focused on the simple task at hand, the rest of me was examining the pieces of me, one at a time.  Who am I?  What do I want to do?  Or, most importantly, what does God want me to do?

So far, these are the action items I can identify – stretch, focus, walk and write.

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A Miracle? Me?

Posted on March 24, 2011 by Phil Valentine

“You realize you’re a miracle, don’t you?”

I sat speechless, emotion welling up.  Me?  A miracle?  All I did was do what the doctors told me.  I let people love me.  I suffered what was mine to suffer.  I didn’t do anything special or anything particularly courageous.  I survived one day at a time.

That’s it.

But did God work a miracle in me?

I had asked Yoly about my 2010 performance appraisal.  How do I do a self-appraisal when I was out so much?  How good a job did I really do?  We went back and forth, she was kinder to me than I was to myself.  I sensed she was getting a little frustrated with me.  That’s when she, as a matter of fact, posed the question, “You know you’re a miracle, don’t you?”

OK, the cancer was a stage 4 diagnosis and last month’s PET scan showed no suspicious activity.  None.  I am healthy.  I have recovered.

Wouldn’t a miracle be if I had been on death’s door step and I was saved.  Was I really that close to dying?  Would the cancer have consumed me that quickly?  Now that I am back to working full time, attending kid’s events and taking on home improvement projects – am I a miracle?

I gotta chew on this for awhile.

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