It’s happening right now…

Calm water is being disturbed. A stiff breeze. A raindrop. A razor-thin stone shot from the shore.

A circular wave ensues, gradually and beautifully moving away from the point of impact. The ripple spreads, affecting the water all around it.

We all have this same power.

When I was a boy, I was a legendary pretend baseball player. On any given Michigan summer day, you could find me in the yard—a glove, a ball, a dusty, well-worn cap on my head. I was the best athlete in the world; a specimen. I’d throw the ball high in the air and make Sportcenter-worthy catches before there was such a thing. If you drove by my house, you’d say I was alone, but I saw something entirely different. I saw a whole team behind me. I saw brightly colored uniforms. I saw a huge crowd in the stands. I saw the cutest girls in the school unable to take their eyes off me as I stood on the mound intimidating my opponents. In reality, I was among the skinniest, shortest, and least athletic kids in the city. But in mind, I was a phenom, someone’s protégé. I routinely mowed down the greatest invisible ballplayers in the world. I was so talented that I was also the game’s announcer “Harding winds and delivers…SWING AND A MISS! Boy, he looks good today Al.” “He sure does,” I replied, in a slightly lower voice.

I did this for hours waiting for my dad to come home from work so I could play catch with him. Dad would pull into our long stone driveway at around 5:30 every night. As the rubber tires rolled atop the loose pebbles, my stomach would tie up in knots. “We’ll be right back with more action right after these words,” I would whisper. The invisible baseball league would have to wait. I had some real ball to play. I must have driven Dad nuts. He just got home after a long day at the office. He probably had a cold beer, a comfortable chair, and TV on his agenda. I didn’t care. There I stood in the driveway, a glove in one hand, a ball in the other. I was already warmed up. “Dad, get your mitt,” I yelled before he even had a chance to turn off the engine. “Come on!”

This memory came rushing back to me faster than one of my invisible 98 mile an hour fast balls today as I played catch with my daughter in our yard.

It also got me thinking about ripples.

The time my dad took to throw a few grounders and a couple of pop ups to his son created a ripple—a ripple whose effects reach a backyard in Tennessee some 35 years later.

And what about mom? Well, Mom is about the only person in the world who wouldn’t make fun of me when I played ball in the yard by myself. I’m sure she heard me hit the game winning home run in the bottom of the ninth to win the game. I’m positive she heard the call when I struck out three in a row to win the World Series. She made her own ripple just by letting a boy be a boy.

Some of my friends are beginning to lose their parents. It leaves an emptiness that cannot be described or fully understood. With that in mind, all I can do is hold on and cherish the time. All I can do is be a great father to my daughters, grab a glove, play some catch, and recognize the ripples.

Because while my mother and father won’t be here forever…..

The ripples remain…

The letter she had been hoping for arrived more quickly than my wife anticipated. It seemed odd to see her son’s name written in this way: Private Adam Soldan, D Company, U.S. Army. Come to think of it, it still seemed odd to see her son’s name anywhere. After all, for 20-years she didn’t know his full name. Last summer, Polly reconnected with the boy she gave up for adoption so many years ago—the boy who had become a man. At last, a blessing she didn’t feel she deserved. At last, a shot at redemption; a second chance.

Excited and eager, she carefully but hurriedly tore open the envelope. The first words from boot camp…Mom. Had he stopped there, that would have been enough to make her day, but of course there was more. Adam gave a play-by-play of the Army’s first grueling days. “No wonder these guys are so tough,” she thought as she read on. Another letter followed a few days later. Polly, the girls, and I are all writing back to him. I hope we can help lift him up when he needs it most. How awesome it is to have him in our lives. How awesome it will be to watch what he does with his. I wonder if he has any idea what he has already done for the woman who gave birth to him.

At a war memorial in Norfolk, Virginia there is a letter from a soldier to his wife. Writing from the battlefields of World War II, Frances Y. Slanger sets the scene as he lay awake at 2am staring into the dying fire at his camp. The wind outside our tent is a mad rampage, he writes. There are only a few small burning coals left in the fire. I couldn’t help thinking how similar to a human being a fire is. If it is allowed to run down too low, it can be nursed back. So too can a human being. It is slow; it is gradual and it’s done all the time… Frances was killed in 1944. In his letter, he touched on something incredibly beautiful. We all have the power to lift each other out of darkness; to bring a person back from the brink of flaming out.

This is my prayer for my wife and her son; that love, like smoldering hot coals, can still be ignited if given a second chance. Fire doesn’t care about the past. It doesn’t know how it began. It only knows the warmth it gives off today.

Boot camp is brutal. They put these guys through hell; tear them down, so they can build them back up. I’m sure the last thing Adam feels like right now is a hero, but that’s exactly what he is. When Polly found him last year and they reconnected, one of the first questions he asked: “Is Curt my dad?” I wish I were. At just 21-years old, he is already forgiving. He is already brave. He is already able to lift people up.

That’s the stuff heroes are made of.

God bless Adam and all of the men and women who wake up each day with one thing in mind: protecting our freedom.

See Adam and read more here:
http://curtharding.com/blog/a-different-view/

To be human is to be beautifully flawed
~ October Baby

Whoever said, “People will disappoint you,” is a genius. Truer words have not been spoken. We can be shockingly brutal towards each other. My work has recently put me into contact with more people than ever before in my life. I have heard men verbally abusing their girlfriends, women screaming at their cell phones, and angry parents crossing the all important line that separates discipline from cruelty. If, somehow, every malicious act we inflict on one another left a physical dent on our bodies, we would most assuredly be impossible to recognize.

But then there’s the beauty…

One chilly evening, I watched a young couple cling to one another as if their lives depended on it. They walked closely, side-by-side. He held her hand like he meant it. She looked at him like he was saving her. They were the very picture of love; an indelible snapshot of what we all long for.

Tonight, on a casual stroll along the Chesapeake Bay in Norfolk, Virginia, I came upon a letter written by a soldier to his wife. In it, he promises when the two reunite, there will be no more wasted moments; that even when they just sit together and do nothing, he will treasure that time like never before. The letter was one of several cast in bronze, seemingly scattered about like the wind had randomly dropped them at the water’s edge. I imagined this young man made it home, rushed into the warmth and comfort of his wife’s arms, and immediately began delivering on his words. Seconds later, I pictured something much different: a young woman, grief-stricken with loss, mourning her husband and the promise of what might have been.

Because we are human, we are flawed. We often take our eye off the dwindling sand in our own hour glass. I suppose a young man at war, facing the threat of death each day, has a perspective you and I do not. Yet, we can read his words and insert them into our own lives. We can vow to fully embrace the people around us. We can hold dear the time we have left. We can promise to rid ourselves of wasted moments.

If only we could better express our desire to live better; to be better. If only we could write down our greatest fears, cast them in bronze and scatter them about. Then we would see that we’re not so different; that we’re in this together. We’re all human…

…beautifully flawed.

Every life has a story. Whether it is a story worth telling and talking about, though, is up to you ~ Donald Miller

For the past few months, I have been working publicity and logistics for a major motion picture release. By the time the campaign is over, I will have traveled to more than 40 movie theaters around the country. That’s a lot of people-watching. It’s also a lot of people-listening. Here’s what I heard over and over again as people made their way out of the theaters, depositing their 3-D glasses in boxes and dumping their leftover popcorn in the trash. “It wasn’t that good, but the special effects were awesome!” It appears Hollywood has gone ultra-cool with effects at the expense of great story.

I think we do that in our lives too.

So gradual that it’s hardly noticeable, many of us let go of the pen and stop writing our stories. We opt for a few special effects and forget that life is a series of choices and chapters and we only get one chance to make it a story worth reading and talking about. If this describes you, change it today.

Imagine the effort we put forth each day to limit ourselves. Think of how foolish it is to limit God. We have no idea what we’re capable of. We have no idea what He’s capable of.

Comedian Louis C.K. has a great routine where he says, “Everything is amazing and no one is happy.” Like most great jokes, it’s funny because it’s true. He describes how people complain about air travel, “We didn’t board for like, 20-minutes…..They left us on the runway forever,” we whine. Yet, never do you hear people scream, “WOW! WE’RE FLYING! WHAT USED TO TAKE DAYS WILL TAKE US A COUPLE OF HOURS! WE’RE SITTING IN A CHAIR IN THE SKY AND IT’S AMAZING!”

You awake each day with a gift from God; a new canvas in which to write your story. It is AMAZING. What do you do with that? Do you live every day with the mindset of gratitude and thankfulness? Do you see your opportunities to touch people as a privilege? Do you stand in awe of God’s grace? Do you accept His invitation to play a small part in His HUGE plan?

If you’re like me, you sometimes treat God like he’s a distant cousin living somewhere in New Jersey. He’s busy, you’re busy…whatever. And when He does something incredible in your life, perhaps you treat that like it’s getting on a plane; nothing really remarkable, in fact, somewhat expected.

Trust Him more. He’s also writing.

I believe there is a writer outside ourselves, plotting a better story for us, interacting with us, even, and whispering a better story into our consciousness. ~ A Million Miles In A Thousand Years

Special effects are really cool both at the movies and in your life, but not at the expense of story. Write a better one today. Ask for help. You have been given a great chance and it’s AMAZING.

Some people stay far away from the door if there’s a chance of it opening up. They hear a voice in the hall outside and hope that it just passes by. ~ Billy Joel

My parents didn’t have to say it, but I know what they wanted for me. I know what they wanted for my brother. I know what they wanted for my sister. I know because it’s what I now want for my daughters…

Doorways.

I want them to recognize them. I want them to cautiously seek them. I want them to pray for guidance and walk through them. And when they find that it was the wrong one to choose, I want them to learn from it, yet never hesitate to find another.

It’s funny, we tell our kids that we only want them to be happy, but that’s not really true is it? What if my daughter thinks that happiness will come with a guy who believes in little, stands for nothing, and would never sacrifice for her? What if, in her pursuit of happiness, she gives up a talent because a voice told her that it wouldn’t take her anywhere? What if someone convinces her that doorways are to be avoided because you never know what’s on the other side? I didn’t grasp this when I was young. I passed by a lot of doorways. I want better for my girls. I want them to understand exactly who they are. I want them to confidently walk the good walk—doorways and all.

My wife and I were thrilled the other day when one of our girls called her “overprotective.” This is a triumph. We actually gave each other a high five. At age 11, my daughters already recognize that their mom and dad are all over them. We know that what they call “overprotective” is really just “protective.” There is no force field we can buy to protect them from the world’s evil. Apple hasn’t invented that yet. Until they do, they have us. Our number one job is to get this right.

As I get older, I see that my parents wanted me to find doorways, avoid the ones that were not in my best interest, and learn from my mistakes. Most importantly, I always knew that that no matter what was behind that door, they were behind me. It’s still true today.

Now I’m leading my own daughters from a magical world of childhood fantasy to a world of endless doorways of discovery and possibility. Eventually, I’ll walk along side them. Finally I’ll let them lead.

I won’t be far behind.

Life is to be lived—doorways and all.

The world is full of people who have never, since childhood, met an open doorway with an open mind.
~ E.B. White