Notes From Camp 2012: Not a Finished Product

Our week of basketball camp ended with a weekend at the Iowa State team camp. We concluded with a phrase that we like to remind the players of at varying points of the season: "We are not a finished product." Win or lose, in June, the pieces are simply not completely put together. Nobody is as good as they're going to be, and we're not entirely sure what we're going to look like when it's all said and done. The message is the same to individuals and to the team as a whole.

With this perspective, current weaknesses are less daunting, less permanent. Hope for success is abundant and control over the outcome is placed firmly in the hands of the team. The message is clear: whatever you are now, you don't have to be when the season is all over. We can be better, or worse. The opportunity presents itself to define what the finished product should look like, what it will take to make that a reality, and display through action how important that vision is.

We use this phrase in November as well as we prepare for our pre-Christmas games. The phrase is repeated over Christmas break as we adjust and plan for the stretch run. But we don't get to say it in February. As coaches are fond of saying that time of year, you are what you are. The product is ultimately finished, and that product will either match the vision or depressingly count the days until that vision can be forgotten. I've seen both types of teams - those reaching their potential and playing with confidence in the stretch run, and those who will remember their experience as one full of "might-have-been's."

This is an essential phrase for everyone outside of team sports as well because we aren't finished products either. Many aspects of our lives are undefined, developing, fluid. Your reputation is not a finished product. Neither is your marriage or your relationship with your family. Same with your career, your cooking skills, the physical shape you're in, and your relationship with God. We all have time to define what the finished product should look like and take action accordingly.

Ignoring the fact that a product is being formed in a certain area of life won't do any of us any good. The season will end, and you will be in the locker room facing what your final performance turned out to be. Ignoring it just guarantees that the product will be a disappointment. And you can't look at the losses in your past to determine what your vision should look like. Yeah, they mattered. They might have been shattering losses. But the season isn't over with. It might be just beginning. What do you want the end to look like?

What our players must face, and so must all of us, is that each day we're moving toward the end. It's not here. We have time to get where we want to be. But every day we either move closer or further away from that vision of what we want to be. 

This is the last of the 2012 Camp posts. I've enjoyed this series again this year and hope to continue them in the future. If you missed any of the previous posts from this year, you can click on them below:

Look Like You Care

Learn While You're Watching

What If I Didn't Foul?

Notes from Camp 2012: What if I Didn't Foul?

Sportsmanship is a constant theme emphasized by our head coach in the youth camp. Younger kids (who are quick studies) are prone to bickering, especially about fouls and fairness. This is never so true as during the vaunted one-on-one tournament. 

When we're about to begin the tournament every year, we go over the rules in careful detail and then wait for the inevitable flood of questions from the kids. Some are questions that have already been answered; some are questions about obscure, unimaginable scenarios; and others are questions about drinks or the weather. Eventually, someone gets to a question of fairness. This year was no different. Upon discovering that the offense calls the fouls, one kid asked the obvious question: "What if they say 'foul,' and I didn't foul them?" 

Our head coach's response was perfect: "That's how life goes."

While not exactly what the kid wanted to hear, I'm sure, it's exactly what he needed to hear. So do most adults. That's how life goes. Unfairness occurs. Difficult people are all around. Basically, you will get screwed over at some point. Expect it.

I suppose one has to be careful. If you constantly expect the worst from people, that's not good either. But I think it's fair to expect the best and accept that you'll be disappointed at times. Rather than throwing adult-sized fits to all who will listen, desperately seeking for retribution or some judge to declare you the winner, perhaps a better response is a deep breath, a disappointed sigh, and a rugged determination to win anyway.

Christians especially must get better at this. Many of us at some time or another behave as if we believe that because we have God, we should expect comfort. Or at the very least, we should expect to win most of the time here on earth. But that's not the case. Yes, if God is for you, who can be against you? But that doesn't mean you don't live in a fallen world. God was with Daniel, and he was tossed into a den of lions. God was with Jonah, and Peter, and Joshua, and Moses, and Paul. All of them lived under pretty terrible conditions at times. And the Bible is full of their complaints. But almost every one of the complaints is followed by verbal expressions of shame at their doubt in the goodness of God.

There are certainly many losses in this life for which tears are appropriate. Weep for them. But know the difference. If it's just another game of one-on-one, deal with it, silently, and find a way to win anyway.

Notes From Camp 2012: Learn While You're Watching

Very few events frustrate coaches as much as teaching a drill, a play, or a skill to a group of players, have one group perform the task well, and then have the next group stumble cluelessly through. At this point the average coach sighs heavily and repeats instructions. Thirty seconds later, when the next group is up, the same bumbling cluelessness dominates again. Here the strategy amongst coaches differs: some will shake their head, some yell, some patiently reteach once again, and many stare at the assistant coaches in despair and disbelief. This inevitably occurred at camp, and the coaching staff found themselves repeating the phrase "learn while you're watching" over and over and over.

Yet no matter how many times we said it, and no matter how many times we will say it in the future, some kids just aren't going to get it. Unless they're not the one physically doing it at the time, their attention is elsewhere. We had some kids watch a drill for 5 minutes, watch 10 kids in front of them go through the drill, and still be lost or out to lunch when their turn came up to perform a single task. I see it in the classroom all the time as well. I give directions, get asked questions that I've already addressed in the directions, then get asked again. 

Perhaps this is a product of the times. We don't have to really know anything - we can Google it. Forget what you were supposed to buy at the store? Just text and find out. Forget directions? Pull out your phone. No idea when your mother's birthday is? Perhaps Facebook will tell you. 

One cannot be constantly in the action. At some point, we must all sit back and watch in our lives. It's not always our turn. But our turn is coming up. Whether it's finally our turn in a job, a relationship, or a bags tournament, there will be a time to perform. What will you do while you wait? Daydream? Text aimlessly? Complain about the wait till it is your turn? Or learn? 

Get ready. Your turn is coming. And you don't want to be the one causing those sighs and desperate looks from the coaching staff.

Notes From Camp 2012: Look Like You Care

June is basketball camp month; and just like last year, I've collected some of the wisdom from basketball camp that translates to the rest of us as well. Last year I enjoyed this series of posts, as I discussed the following lessons:

• Get in the Gap
• The Word of the Day is "Adversity"
• Make New Mistakes
• Use the Off-Season
• Do Your Ball-Handling Drills

The first lesson from this year's camps is whatever you do, take pride in what you're doing and look like you care. Unfortunately we had some kids come to our team camp, especially junior high kids, who worked hard at appearing as if they didn't care when things weren't going all that well. It's a common trait we see in players when they do not expect to be successful at something. It's the easy way out. If you can't win a rebounding drill, joke about how you can't jump. If you can't lead a sprint, stay comfortably in the middle of the pack and then dramatically hack and wheeze once you're finished. Going to miss most shots you take? Spend your day chucking up half-court prayers, laughing about the ricochets off of teammates' heads.

This behavior is common because if you look like you care and then lose, you fear you might look like a fool. If your weaknesses are funny, though, then at least you're entertained and you can pretend to those around you that you're not any good because you simply don't want to be.

After listening to our head coach have this discussion with players at all levels of our camp, I found myself fearing to find anything in my life that I laugh away and feign detachment. For this behavior is not confined to players. Bad with money? Joke about foolish purchases. Out of shape? Burn those extra pounds off through sarcasm. Distance growing in important relationships? Offer one-liners rather than reconciliation. We are a society who labels as "stupid" or "not worth my time" anything we don't understand or can't do well. 

What do you make light of? About what do you sell to your peers a lack of passion? If there's anything in your schedule that you find yourself reacting in this manner, there's really only two choices to make: get it off your schedule if you don't care about it, or take pride in it if you do. Go hard. Care. If it's worth your time, then it's worth your effort. 

Take A Victory Lap

I remember from my high school track days that the winning team at the end of a meet took a victory lap around the track to commemorate their win. Though I'd never admit to watching NASCAR, my understanding is that the same holds true for winners there. Apparently, huge bottles of champagne, hot women, and flips off of car hoods do as well; though I don't remember those from my track days. Most people, including myself until recently, often resented those running the victory lap as arrogant, show-off snobs who love to rub winning in others' faces. Maybe they are. But I've come to realize just how important it is to allow ourselves, once in a while, to run those victory laps when we win.

Here's the thing: winning is so brief, and the moment is over so quickly. Unless born with exceptional talent, winners work tirelessly to succeed. Hours and days and months and years are spent, grinding, chasing, pushing, all with the goal of a moment of triumph. If you don't take a victory lap, that moment is over, blink, just like that. You'll always know that you won; however, you won't be able to bask in it, enjoy it, and reflect on all it took to succeed.

I just finished up my second Masters degree this week. It feels surreal. After three years of plodding along, of battling fatigue, guilt, British literature, and one professor who must have been high for most of the semester, it's over. Done. My family and I took yesterday to celebrate. The official moniker for the new holiday was "Happy No More Grad School Day!" It was a finish line for all of us. No more doing without Dad for my daughters. No more extra duty for my wife, who patiently and lovingly endured a constantly moody, tired husband committed to his office on evenings and weekends. We had a great day of playing and ice cream treats and even an impromptu water fight to end the day. But I'm not done basking in the victory yet. I want my victory lap.

So I'm going to run it. I'm going to take a week, or perhaps a month, and take one lap around the track. I'm going to reflect on the hours and frustrations of the journey, allowing them to drip off like sweat. On the back stretch I will go a little slower, remembering how I got to the finish line, especially all the people that got me and my family through. Around the final corner I'll start thinking about the next race I'll run and what training it will require. But down the homestretch I'll shove those plans aside and just run, smiling, high-fiving, and finish the lap with hugs, champagne, and a hot wife who hopefully remembers me.

I won't be running to brag or show off, but I will be celebrating this success. I am going to take this in, and I'm not going to feel guilty or conceited because of a lack of false modestly. None of us should feel like we have to apologize for feeling good about winning once in a while. Life has too many losses in it not to mark the victories.

For your next big win, don't forget the victory lap. I'll be sure to clap along with you.

Love Me with Fire and Brimstone

“The people who love you the most, tell you what you don’t want to hear.”
- Larry Shyatt (Florida assistant bball coach)

I found that quote on a daily basketball coaching email I get, and I liked it a lot. It’s something I’ve always believed, and it’s a lot like a Dan Rather statement I referenced on a recent post. Most of us don’t have nearly enough of this type of love in our lives.


Someone else who clearly believes in this is David McCullough, Jr., an English teacher who at a graduation speech reminded students that “You are not special. . . You see, if everyone is special, then no one is. If everyone gets a trophy, trophies become meaningless. ... We have of late, we Americans, to our detriment, come to love accolades more than genuine achievement.” (You can read an article about the speech and watch a video of it here. It’s 12 minutes long and definitely worth your time).


People cannot reach their full potential in life - whether in terms of relationships, profession, knowledge, faith, etc. - without someone to tell them the difficult truths. A recent Des Moines Register article that struck a nerve with me on this topic was one about young people fleeing traditional Des Moines churches in favor of nothing at all or more “progressive” churches. The woman quoted most in the article stated what she saw as the key reason: most people don’t want to hear about sin, God’s judgment, or hell, so they seek out churches that don’t preach on those matters.

I don’t care if you go to a 200 year old church, a 200 day old church, or no church at all, but I do think that’s an extremely dangerous (yet common) sentiment. It’s the same sentiment I get when my students read Jonathan Edwards’ famous sermon “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” It’s rude, they say, for Edwards and churches today to establish that hell exists, that punishment and sin are real, that God has established standards of conduct and a desire for each of us to be better than what we currently are. God is love, they say. He’ll take me as I am, they add, followed by references to what a loving God will or won’t do in their mind.

Yes, God is love. And yes, He’ll take me as I am. Those are true, and that’s what I and many others want to hear. But we also need people in this world to tell us the truths that we don’t. They need to remind us that some of our behaviors are less than Christ-like, and that God does speak through ALL of Scripture. And they need to remind us of hell.

Here’s the thing: “Fire and brimstone” talk, the message of God’s judgment, is a communication of how good God is, of how far away from Him we are, and how desperately we need Him. It’s a communication that out of love he has created a way to bridge that gap and fulfill our needs. It reminds us He is the goal, not a comfortable, unexamined, unchallenged life here on Earth. And it reminds us that if God is for us, who can be against us?

I don’t like being reminded of my sin. I squirm when new sins I wasn’t even aware of are highlighted, forcing me to change. But I am thankful for those times. For through them, I am better and closer to the goal.

Games of Tag and Endless Conversation

I remember two things about growing up as Dad's partner when I was young and went with him to work on the farm.

The first is the countless rides in the truck. I have no idea how the game originated, but somewhere along the line Dad and I started playing tag in the cab of the truck. I know that playing a game of tag with absolutely nowhere to run seems silly, but somehow we made up rules about stop signs and placement of the truck and other absurdities that made it competitive and fun. It was an ongoing game, and we each took great pleasure in feigning having forgotten the game until the last second, when we could pounce and tag the other individual, jump out of the truck, and claim victory. The game was ongoing and lasted for many years. Bragging rights in our game of tag were larger than any trophy I could imagine in my youth.

The other memory I have of those days were the number of times Dad would get into a conversation with someone, and I had to stand there and wait, bored as hell. I could even predict when it was going to happen based on the time of day, location, and personnel we encountered. Dad would stand and talk for what seemed like hours to one of his landlords, or around a coffee table at the local welding business, or especially at the Coop. I knew better than to whine about it being time to go because I was bored; instead, I just stood there, occasionally listened, smiled when referred to, and bet with myself on how long it would take before we could leave. It didn't take long for me to figure out his "getting ready to leave" words. When certain phrases came up, I knew my wait was down to a couple of minutes.

As a man and a father now, I see two ideas I should have learned from these, whether he meant me to or not. The first is that every minute with my kids is an opportunity. Dad was a busy guy, and so am I now; what he showed in that game of tag was a willingness to make the moments we had together in the truck valuable. It was a stupid game of tag with ridiculous rules, and all DOT officials would probably frown on the lack of strict attention on the driving itself. But I remember it fondly, and it was something we did together that I remember more than two decades after the fact.

I also learned to value people. What I didn't understand in my youthful desire to get from place to place as quickly as possible is that Dad was building relationships. People are the real currency, not busyness. I have spent a great deal of time in my adult life rushing from place to place, hurrying to this duty and that accomplishment, chasing God knows what. In my rush to get I don't know where, I know there are times I saw people who wanted to stop and talk as a liability, not an opportunity. I wish I hadn't waited until I was 32 to learn the lesson of sitting around a table with cheap coffee, a cookie or two, and random conversation. But I know it now.

I may be a late learner, but I'm glad Dad was there to act out the lesson that no matter how busy the schedule is, slow down for your kids and slow down for people.