Cinderella

George Mason is in the Final Four of this year's NCAA Tournament.
Who is George Mason?
"I don't know!"

George Mason is a mid-major conference school that was lucky to receive an at-large invitation to this year's March Madness NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament.
George Mason Univerisy is considered to be this year's "Cinderella story" and with just cause.


For those that do not understand the Cinderella concept, basically this is the story of a nobody that becomes a somebody out-of nowhere and lives a fairy tale life.

Happy ever after...
The End


But wait! There's more. If you remember the story, you know that Cinderella was always doing the dirty work, the chores, being bossed around, a nobody. She receives a little help and becomes a princess, spends the evening at the celebrity ball, and then flees in a hurry - because of what? - because she is running out of time. She inevitably returns to rags, her chariot regresses to a pumpkin and the horses go back to Seigfried and Roy.

Being called a Cinderella means you only have a moment to shine before the unavoidable collapse. Before the return to normality, the loss of the spotlight. Like Agent Smith whispering into Neo's ear that this is unavoidable, inevitable, etc.

So, I wouldn't want to be called a Cinderella story. The positive connotation has no weight for me. I would rather be called a....Daniel-son! The new kid nobody knows, you get into some fights, you win some you lose some, you eventually get the car the dead-leg the coveted trophy the girl and the best part(!).... a sequel! Yes, you come back for more.


On a personal note, Pat Morita (a.k.a. Mr. Miagi) died in November, now everybody "Wax on! Wax off!" in a moment of reflection.

M@

Laugh Reflex

I really thought that I would one day out-grow this.
This is one of those things I just expected to stop doing.
Kinda like biting your nails, staying up late or drinking chocolate milk.
Some people have a gag-reflex. Nope, mine is laughing.
I have an instant laugh-reflex.
And it was made apparent the past week on our youth group ski trip.

I don't know when I would have officially considered myself to be an adult. Maybe it would be when my first reaction is not laughter when I see a teenager flying down a mountain at Mach 2 and meeting the 4 foot snow bank head on. Or perhaps setting up one of the sweetest unsuspecting girls in the youth group to be scared by the boy hiding in the back of the Uhaul trailer while she is loading her luggage at 4am.

We drove for 16 hours on Wednesday. At several times, I was the only one awake in the 15 passenger van. My only company was the music of the David Crowder* Band (though not shabby company) and my memories of hysterical moments like the ones I have already mentioned. I found those (and many more like them) to be so funny that I would be unable to surpress my smile and occasionally a giggle would escape.

I can't tell you how many times I have been hiding in the closet of an unsuspecting sibling or roomate, ready to do my civic duty and scare the living fire out of them for no apparent reason, when just the simple anticipation of what may transpire forces a smile on my face. A giggle would escape, my cover blown.

Why is it that when I see some of my favorite teenagers wipe out on a ski slope, my initial reaction is to laugh? I thought ministers were above this! Does this make me a bad youth minister? Of course I care about the well being of my kids, but I gotta tell you that watching a senior in high school take a face plant in 3 feet of snow only to lay there completely buried will keep you young!

I guess I become an adult when I run to my fallen kid with a cell phone ready to call 911 rather than a video camera flashing "REC".

I won't miss biting my nails... I may miss staying up late (it is around 1am as we speak) and will definately miss chocolate milk.

But I hope I never out-grow laughter.


Besides, I caught it all on camera!


M@

"Yeah, we're in the Rockies!"

Being a youth minister has several "perks". One of which is being able to plan a ski trip for my youth group. This event has weighed heavily on my mind for the last two months or so and with it many other memories of ski trips long past have surfaced. Some good memories of wrestling with my best friends in our hotel room, or watching death-defying aerial acrobatics by our unsuspecting peers and fellow youth memebers as they hit the bump we didn't see either...
The time I almost died, probably stands out more than any others. I mean, why wouldn't it?

March 2002, Salida, CO. Monarch.

The trip had been going really well. It was the last run of the final day of our trip. For those of you that have the priviledge of knowing Houston Heflin and his wife Karen, you know that they are amazing people. What you may not know is they are amazing skiers as well! Karen beat me down a blue run - did I mention she was 3 months pregnant? Houston was limited to 180 degree helicopter tricks. The 360 was banished so he wouldn't risk getting hurt with a baby on the way.

The three of us (plus another adult sponsor) decided it was our obligation to take one more ride to the top and make sure there was no one else left on the mountain from our group! It was the responsible thing to do.

The four of us are on a lift discussing how glad we were that no one was seriously hurt. We had a great time, the weather was good, the snow was white. As we reached the chair-lift dismounting area, I realized there were four of us on the lift and it could get a bit sticky. As the our skis touched down, I was briefly cut off by another adult, so I waited for a chance to clear. As I delayed for a second or two, I timed my exit from the lift just a few seconds before it took the violent U-turn to head back down the mountain.

As I hopped off, I realized that something was keeping me from moving forward. Something felt like it was holding me back, as if the chair was holding me back. I realized in a moment of shear terror (not to mention embarrasement) that the backpack I wear when I ski was unbuckled and hooked onto the back of the chair. Walking in skis is very deficult, running while looking over your should is nearly impossible. I stepped on one of my own ski and accidentally popped it off. Now I am stuck to a chair lift by a backpack strap with one ski and one ski-boot trying to keep my balance.

Keep in mind, there is often times a little shack at the top of the mountain with a few windows facing the dismounting area. There is usually some poor fool in there with one purpose in life. His calling is to push a red button (I am assuming it is red, I mean every read button I know of is red, Easy buttons, missle launch buttons, fire alarms...) to stop the lift when some idiot gets tripped up and falls off of a lift. I don't know where he was, but he's dead now. (kidding)

Now I have tripped over myself, lost my balance (still connected to the chair lift) being dragged face first as the chair makes that violent U-turn to head back down the mountain. This is one of those lifts that is right over one of those death runs. You know which one I am talking about, where you ride the lift to watch people fall off of the rocks. I couldn't ski this to save my life. The way I am being dragged it looks like that might have to happen. I thought I would be dragged all the way down the mountain, suspended some 50 feet over a run that was out of my league; if I survive the fall! Bottom line if my backpack breaks, I am screwed.

Right before the lift leaves ground level to head down the mountain, Lloyd Christmas decides to push the button. The lift stops and I am know literally dangling with my skis 3 feet off of the ground. My arms are still in the shoulder straps, the waist belt still unbuckled and still connected to the back of the chair lift. Lloyd comes running out of his hidey-hole. Houston and Karen have been watching all of this happen and as the lift stops, Houston has time to unclip his boots from his skis and run in his ski-boots (no easy task) and reaches me before Lloyd. Houston grabs the back of my jacket, unhooks the strap from the chair, and pulls me back to the ground level. My feet are touching, I am finally okay. Lloyd races over and offers me a pair of extra gloves, the turns to his buddy in the shack and screams "Get Some LEAVES!". Then he asks me the dumbest question ever. "What happened?!" 15 responses ran through my mind. None of them sounded remotely like a parable Jesus would tell.

"Are you okay?" - I wanted to laugh.
"Man, you are one lucky [something]." - I wanted to cry.
"Dude, I'm sorry about that!" - I wanted to knock him out.
"Is there anything else I can do?" - huh?
"No, you've been enough help already. Thank you." Sorry, it's all I could muster. I'm a minister, not a saint!

I like to think the sounds from those on the lift behind me, were chears of celebration and appreciation for surving such a devistating event. Now, I think they sounded like laughs. Karen had gathered up my skis and ski poles. How do you respond to something like that? I couldn't do anything but gather up the gear, strap them on and say "Ok, let's go see if anybody got hurt."
Karen, ran over to me, her eyes filled with tears (either from crying or laughing, I couldn't tell) hugged me and said "I am so glad you are alive!"

Wow, I could have died. By dinner time that night, the story had gotten around. I overheard two of the 7th graders exagerating the story to a degree that I was holding onto the lift with one hand and the other hand had caught my bible that had fallen out of the torn backpack. Someone mentioned something about fighting off a bear. I set the record straight and told the story how it had happened. Then I received my applause I felt I was being cheated on earlier in the day.

So, we are getting ready to go on another trip. I hope we have a good time. I hope we are safe. Keep us in your prayers and check back next week to find out how the trip went. Same Matt time, same Matt channel.

M@