Breathing, Singing and Walking with Jesus

Breathing...all of us do it, but rarely do we even give it thought. Walking, now that takes action on our part. Breathing ... is as passive as it gets. Likely near a billion times for an average life.

Often as a firefighter, (usually during training exercises, but sometimes on actual scenes) I realized just how very valuable our every breath becomes. Knowing that you must control your breathing, for that which is usually free and without thought, becomes limited and thus each breath must be calculated. As well as an athlete in aerobic type of events, breathing plays an incredibly important role.

Then there are the two personal events in my life in which this very passive part of life became a very real concentrated effort. Once, a near drowning event as a college student at the beach, and a second after inhaling a poisonous substance. But never before have I experienced that which I've witnessed in some patients, that is fighting for air to the extent that you are even unable to speak a single word. A night in August of 2016 was one of those times.

Cece (not her real name) entered the ER in severe respiratory distress. She was conscious, appeared to be aware of my presence, but in such distress was unable to speak. After several minutes of providing advanced care it was determined that she had a written order requesting only basic life support measures. Being redirected by our physician, we attended to her wishes.

It was then that I had a couple minutes to call a mutual friend who is also our hospital chaplain. Shortly after her arrival to the ER, with Cece still fighting for her every breath, the friend was singing to her the praises of Jesus. Over the next few minutes Cece's breathing became more relaxed, began to slow, and she became calm. Exhausted? Absolutely! Then again, coming to rest in the Father's arms? I do believe so. 

Cece was then admitted, providing a more appropriate room for her soon arriving family to spend some precious moments. Unknown then that only moments was all she had.

In the book of Genesis, chapter 2 verse 7 it says, "And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul." 

An hour would pass, now home, showered and watching the 2016 summer Olympics. Michael Phelps would swim his last Olympic race of his career, taking his 23rd gold medal. And I thought...here's an amazing athlete who has trained to such an extent that both his body and breath would allow him to repeatedly fight and capture such a feat. And only brief moments prior my friend was fighting with every single breath while running the last race of life itself. Then it donned on me...she too captured gold. 

I would stand as our national anthem played...in honor of the life that Cece had the privilege to live. Michael, his last Olympic race. Cece, her last breath, but then, just as quickly her first steps and new breath with Jesus, walking with Him on streets of gold.

Baseball...And The Babe!

- The 1967 Pirate -

‘Baseball ', more than any other sport, activity or experience, has had a mighty affect on this soon to be fifty-nine year old. I'm not one of those who lives, eats and drinks baseball, but it seems often to sit in the shadow of my life. In fact yesterday found me in pursuit of several local Goodwill and thrift stores searching for quality mitts to add to our inventory of gear for a baseball clinic we hope to have during the first couple weeks of November in Nicaragua. 

 And now, at five in the morning … as is the case a couple times per month for this guy who spent thirty-two years in a fire house … I find myself awake and thinking, mostly of the logistics of the upcoming clinic.  And for some reason the name ‘Babe Dahlgren' comes to mind. Perhaps for everyone (all three of you) reading this blog will ask, “Babe who?” But for me, the name, the man gave me a powerful lesson and memory for life. In fact, likely more times than not, if I'm telling a baseball story, the Babe is included. 

Then, a Dodger...and a MVP!

It was fifty years ago this past spring that my father gave me one of the seven greatest treasures that I ever received from him. My parents had divorced a couple years earlier, and I found myself struggling. My father, who had little if any athletic ability, had a friend who knew this guy who happened to be an old major league baseball player. In fact, he even played for the mighty New York Yankees!  Now I must admit, my baseball career had begun only a couple months prior, so Sandy Koufax was barely a name that I was familiar with, let alone a ‘Babe Dahlgren' or even ‘Babe Ruth’ for that matter. 

I've come to know that his full name was Ellsworth Tenney Dahlgren and received the nickname ‘Babe' from his stepfather. That rookie year for this eight year old boy had me playing for the Lawndale Pirates, don't imagine you ever heard of them? 😂Apparently, I showed some exceptional skill as a fielder, but my bat was lacking. My father, through his professional connections, had come to know the late great Casey Stengel who knew this former player who had become a scout and hitting coach. Here steps in the ‘Babe’.

I don't recall the number of afternoons spent receiving hitting lessons from Babe Dahlgren, what I do know, is that memory and those skills never left this ‘old man ', now fifty years later. 

1993 Oregon Men's Senior Baseball Champions

For those interested, you can see a slight glimpse of the man in the movie ‘Pride of the Yankees’, which portrays the story of the great Lou Gehrig. After playing 2,130 consecutive games, the ‘Iron Horse’ pulled himself out of the game. His replacement at first base, Mr. Babe Dahlgren himself. 

I give thanks to my father who had the insight to place me in that position in the spring of 1967. I've had the fortune to often play, coach and be a spectator of our great American pastime. And I suppose that it may just be a part of my life until the very last of my days.

As a footnote, in reading about Babe Dahlgren this morning I came across a blog that Babes grandson Matt writes, which also connected me to his book, ‘Rumor In Town', the story about his grandfather. Within Matt's blog is an article written in November of 2016 titled ‘The Passing Of A Great Man'.  There he tells about his 1991 stay with the Steve Roberts family while playing in a summer baseball league. A good read itself, but what strikes me (no pun intended) is the fact that the Roberts are from Red Oak, Iowa. This means nothing to most, but for me it is one more ‘Dahlgren' connection. How's that, you say? My father is from Red Oak and I spent many a summer in the little Iowan town myself. So Matt, perhaps one day we'll meet and be able to reminisce about ‘The Babe', Red Oak and how our journeys have unknowingly had a unique connected thread. www.rumorintown.com/