50 & Loving It

Last month my odometer turned over -- I turned 50. Age or numbers have never bothered me. Unless I plan to live beyond 100, I've been "middle-aged" for some time now. The indignities of physical aging are certainly not new. And there are many much younger than I who don't have my zest for life or fun-loving spirit (translation: I still act like a kid!). But I have to admit there was part of me dreading this birthday.

Now that I've had a month to try it out, being 50 ain't so bad. The sky hasn't fallen in or my hair hasn't fallen out. I've been a grandpa for 16 months, so the good-natured jabs about being an "old man" don't really faze me either. Yes, I'm slower and fatter, but I've still got a few years before my expiration date. Here's what is great about being 50: I know who I am!

How many milestones do we wander through searching for some sense of identity? I sort of expected a new version of me as a 50-something. But not this time. I'm still me. Once you reach 50 you're as grown up as you'll ever be. I've got more to learn, of course, and I hope I never stop changing. In fact, I'm probably more aware now that I haven't "arrived" than I've been my whole life.

That self-awareness -- or is it wisdom -- is strangely satisfying. No need to try to impress anyone or pretend to be something I'm not. No illusions of grandeur or angst over what's undone. In the words of that great philosopher, Popeye, "I am what I am."

I'm actually feeling a new zest now that I've realized 50 isn't fatal. I'm going to keep going for it, finding new adventures, tackling bigger challenges, appreciating what matters and ignoring what doesn't. God loves me. And so do my wife and girls. That's enough.

I'm not exactly sure when I'll start pulling my pants up higher or driving with the left turn signal on. If you happen to notice before I do, don't bother telling me. I know who I am... and whose I am.

Jump

I've always wanted to jump out of an airplane... so I did! Last week ten of us, along with some witnesses & well-wishers, drove to Middletown to conquer our fears. My wife chose not to go and was hoping I'd choose the same. Not a chance.

You see, I have always believed my next experience might very well be the best experience of my life. Why not go for it? Skydiving has always intrigued me. What would it feel like to free fall at 120 mph? Would I freeze at the moment I was supposed to jump? With my 50th birthday just around the corner, I figured I had nothing to lose.

It wasn't anything like I expected. I chose to jump tandem, which meant I had an experienced skydiver strapped closer than I've ever let another man get to me. While I may have forgotten an important instruction -- "Rip cord... what rip cord?" -- I figured this fella had no interest in dying. I did ask if he had any enemies or was fighting with his girlfriend, but quickly determine he could be trusted.

From 2 miles up, we did a free fall for the first mile, then popped the shoot and drifted gently home. I expected that stomach-in-your-throat feeling you get when the elevator goes down too quickly. It wasn't like that it all. I had the sensation of flying. I never felt in danger because the ground was never that close. Eyes wide open, I took it all in with a great big smile on my face.

Like most things in my life, the anxious moments were the times leading up to the jump. As the plane kept gaining altitude, the doubts & fears rose too. Somehow looking around at the gang of lunatics jumping with me wasn't reassuring. The bravado just minutes before in the hanger below was replaced with quiet. As I leaned out of the open plane door, viewed the patchwork of farms below, and felt the cold, rushing wind, I could have easily worked myself into a panic. Instead, I jumped.

I learned a lot about myself that day. Mainly, I learned the worst part is usually waiting. That's when your doubts, fears and anxieties can get the best of you. So... jump. It just might be the ride of your life.

How Far Is Too Far

By now I'm used to watching my kids move forward. I've been a parent for nearly 25 years. While everything in you longs to cling to them forever, you learn quickly that parenting is more about letting go. It starts with that first step. Then their first overnighter with grandma & grandpa. Their first ballgame. Some are real milestones, like the first day of kindergarden or middle school or high school. And what about sweat 16, that first date, a driver's license, or graduation?

It can be so doggone fun that you don't notice each of those steps inching them farther from your grasp. "She'll aways be my little girl," we say, but inside you worry that you might be lying to yourself. When you drop them off at college, the distance starts to get real and hole in your heart becomes more noticeable.

But they blossom and mature. You're too proud to step in their way now. They still come around, of course, when they're overwhelmed or defeated or broke. We put gas in their car, do their laundry, wipe a few tears, and send them off again. If parents were smart, they'd latch onto them again at these low points. But we're not that smart. We love them to much NOT to insist they be all they can be.

I already knew all that, even though the emotions still catch me from time to time. Instead of grieving when Kristin, our oldest, moved to Charleston, SC two years ago, we took it in stride and thought of every excuse we could to visit. She seemed to like showing us around her new town. If this is what it means to let go, I thought, I can do it. My parental separation anxiety must be over.

This afternoon we put Kristin on a plane headed to Abu Dhabi, UAE. Her adventurous spirit has led her to a teaching position on the other side of the world. Although it's impossible for me to admit, she's not a kid anymore. She's more than ready. (Whether or not the Arabic culture is ready for her remains to be seen!) And as far as I know, the rules haven't changed: She moves forward. I let her go. But I can't help wondering: How far is too far?

Unless she marries a sheik and settles for life in the desert as wife #6, she'll be back in a year or two. And with Skype, I'll get to see her more often than I did when she was in Charleston. It's a tremendous opportunity for her -- the chance of a lifetime. Why wouldn't I be proud & excited?

So, I'm letting go... again. Not because I like it, but because that's what parents do. And even though I've been doing this for 25 years, it hurts like I've never let go before. The difference is, I know it will get better. We'll adjust. She'll flourish. Our family will go forward.

This is a very big world, so there's no telling where my girls might choose to explore next. But no matter how far they wander, I'll keep letting go because wherever they are... they'll always be my little girls.

Down The Aisle

In my 29 years of ministry I've officiated a lot of weddings. I stopped counting at 100 several years ago. There's very little about weddings that catch me by surprise. But the wedding on August 1st was completely different. This time I got to walk down the aisle. On my arm was a beautiful, radiant girl that had grown and matured right before my eyes. Your perspective on a wedding changes when you're the father of the bride.

Lindsey was glowing. Nolan, my new son-in-law, is a terrific guy. He was smiling ear to ear during our long, slow stroll toward him. I'll admit, there were a few times I'd thought about making a mad dash. The best years of my life have been spent surrounded by a family of four lovely girls. Why would I give that up? If I could have dragged Lindsey back to those years when she was an adorable 4-year-old, I may have done it. But I couldn't. And there was no denying the love Lindsey and Nolan now share.

So I walked down that aisle, fully aware nobody was looking at me. My girls have had a challenging life in the spotlight created by my job. It wasn't always fun or fair for them. For once, this was all about Lindsey -- her moment -- and she couldn't have been more prepared. She looked lovely, and all those gathered knew there was an even more remarkable depth and beauty on the inside.

Everyone expected I would be a mess. When it comes to my girls, I'm a real softy. So they were taking bets on how quickly I'd lose it. To even my surprise, I wasn't emotional at all walking that aisle. In fact, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.

Seconds before we rounded the corner, I told Lindsey how proud I was to be her dad and asked if she was ready. She didn't have to say anything. No doubts. No fear. Just a big, "I can't wait!" I could see in her eyes this was exactly what she'd been dreaming and praying and planning and waiting for. Not just a fairytale ceremony, but a partner worth sharing her life with.

I suppose I could be sad about being "replaced," but I have a suspicion there will always be room in Lindsey's heart for her dad. All I know is it felt good -- no GREAT -- sharing her joy. I was thrilled and honored to give her away.

And now... the adventure begins.

Living in the Shadow

On Friday morning, July 9, I got the phone call nobody wants. My dad had collapsed at home and was being rushed to the hospital. He wasn't responding. Hurry. He died before I could get there.

This past week has been a blur. I've felt a strange mixture of gratitude and void. While my dad seemed much healthier than the average 81-year-old, the effects of Alzheimer's had been taking more and more of him away from us over the past 4 years. Though his death had been sudden, my grieving started years ago. Anxiety about what might come next was replaced by the relief that he had gone quickly & painlessly. Yet, that calm assurance does little to fill the piercing sense of finality.

I'm still sorting through my feelings and learning to go forward from this point. I've been touched by the outpouring of love and amazed by how many others have had similar experiences. I still wish everyone could have known my dad like I did.

Seventeen years ago I wrote the article below in the church paper introducing my dad. He was preaching for me while I was on vacation and I wanted them to know more about him. I'd forgotten all about the article, but dad had saved it. Just 2 months ago, mom and dad ran across it, and we read it together again. Life was very different in 1993, but these words and my feelings haven't changed.

While I'm bound to discover new emotions as I continue to grieve, I have no regrets because my dad knew how I felt. Now you do too.

"All of my life it seemed like everyone knew my dad. With a father who started churches throughout the south and brothers ministering in Tennessee and Japan, he's always had a rich heritage in the church. His lifelong dedication to Cincinnati Bible College & Seminary (now Cincinnati Christian University) has created friends and acquaintances around the world. I can't remember any vacation we took, no matter how far we got from home, when dad didn't meet somebody he knew.

"Growing up a preacher's kid didn't ruin me (maybe a few dents!). I couldn't tell you a word from any of his sermons, although all three of us boys dutifully lined the pew each Sunday. I can recall clear images of him standing in the pulpit of that old, country church or surrounded by walls of books while he studied late at the desk in our basement. He was always prepared. Gentle. Reliable.

"There was a time I feared I'd never escape his shadow. After fathering three boys, he figured someone had to carry his name. Guess who got it? Andrew EARL. At church, everyone told me I'd be a fine preacher... just like my dad. At school they called me 'Reverend,' even though the clash with my lifestyle was obvious and intentional. I'm still not sure why, but I even attended 'his' college. Always in the shadows, yet I was determined to make a name for myself.

"You see, his style wasn't flashy enough for me. Why couldn't he be more aggressive? I was to be a leader. A world-changer. No question about it, I had it all figured out. Through it all, dad was gentle and reliable, helping me to prepare.

"Well, now I'm the father and preacher. I know the shadow is gone because I feel the heat of responsibility and pressure. Even though I might long for his protection again, it's my job now. So what kind of man will I be? What image do I want my girls to recall? More and more I've been thinking -- gentle, reliable, always prepared. Other heroes have come and gone, but dad's mark will never be lost.

"I realize now the shadow I felt growing up was actually the shade he provided from the scorching heat. He watched over me with the same gentleness he used in all of life. He believed in me. Where other kids are forgotten or scorned, I was loved. Some are left searching, but I always had instruction. With extreme patience he turned my insecurities into faith. I could count on dad.

"There will never be any monuments erected to Earl Sims. That's OK. Quiet satisfaction of a job well done would please him more anyway. But if I could just live in his shadow -- develop that servant's heart -- my life would be a legacy of his love."

Traffic

Our daughter flew in from Charleston, South Carolina for the holiday weekend. Both Mindy and I were excited about having all our girls home, so the idea of driving to the Dayton airport to meet her 11:30pm arrival didn't bother us at all. Who would have imagined we'd spend 45 extra minutes waiting in traffic?

There wasn't an accident, just 3 narrowed lanes through construction on I-75 between Cincinnati and Dayton. It was the kind of slow-down you'd expect during the ride home from work. Bumper to bumper. Nothing but taillights as far as you could see. But this was after 11pm -- on a school night. Where were all of these people going? Did their mothers know they were out so late?

A combination of impatience and eagerness put me on edge, but there was nothing I could do... except sulk. Why were all these cars & trucks getting in MY way? This is MY road. Maybe if I inched closer to the car in front of me....

We eventually got to the airport by midnight. It was a late night, but we quickly forgot about the hassle once we hugged Kristin and our other girls started arriving. The weekend was a blast.

Last night, after dropping Kristin off at the same airport, it occurred to me. There are some important moments in life and then there are the ordinary, everyday occurrences. Both are required, but only one matters. The big mistake I make is confusing the two or letting those everyday occurrences distract me from what's important. Traffic happens.

Lots of us get stuck in traffic. We're headed so many places and doing so many things, but we're getting nowhere. We're focused on the clutter in our life rather than those people or events that really matter. We curse the other drivers who get in our way rather than let those moments pass, knowing there are bigger things to concentrate on.

The past few weeks my schedule has been packed full of meetings and deadlines. Important stuff, I suppose. I want to do my job well. I think what I'm doing helps people and honors God. But sometimes, even that becomes "traffic."

Sometimes I'm surprised at what the really good stuff -- the stuff that matters most -- ends up being. It's going to the Red's game with your 81-year-old dad. It's watching your daughter light up as she talks about her upcoming wedding. It's Skyline time with your girls. It's sitting around a fire, listening to your kids tell stories about the good, old days. It's watching your granddaughter giggle on her first swing. It's the whole family napping on the floor after a big feast. It's taking a snapshot with the entire family. It's seeing a tear in Mindy's eye when the house is empty again, but still feeling full and content. It's a great weekend together with the people you love the most.

I guess I'm back in traffic again. But it feels good to know I'm not alone and I'm headed somewhere.

46,271

Well... I made it. After months of training and despite a constant rain, I completed Cincinnati's Flying Pig Marathon -- 26.2 miles in 6 hours, 11 minutes and 32 seconds. That's a long time and about 4 hours behind the winning pace... but I was walking. My goal was to finish before everyone went home. A 15-minute mile pace seemed reasonable for a novice. So, I was surprised (& thrilled) to average a 14:11 mile. That's a pretty brisk pace, but my placing (3903) proved this race was a lot bigger than me. There were hundreds, including my old college roommate, behind me, yet having little, old ladies pass me was a gentle reminder not to get too full of myself.

I felt strong throughout the race. The rain was a little unnerving, but once I realized "soaked" is as wet as you can get, it quit being an issue. The major-league blisters I got on both heals from wet feet made the last 5 miles (& the next day or two) pretty miserable. But, hey, what's the big deal about a few battle scars -- I'm a marathoner!

That being said, I'm never going to do this again. I was in it for the experience, which was exciting, fun and humbling. I'd planned for the physical challenge, but the mental part was much tougher. Now that it's over (& I promise I won't keep babbling about it), here's what I've learned:

• Everybody has limits... they just aren't where you think they are. I really didn't think I could do this. We all make excuses because we don't want to fail. What's the big deal? Failure isn't fatal. Because I took the risk and pushed my limits, I discovered I'm capable of doing some pretty big things.
  
• I need a finish line. The training required huge blocks of time (which I'm glad to have back), and the only reason I was willing to commit that effort was the dream of crossing that finish line. That's all I thought about for 4 months. Winning is a huge motivator for me. Now, I need to figure out where the "finish lines" are in other areas of my life.
• Trust your training. I had a training plan that I followed. At times, I wondered how I'd ever get to where I needed to be in time for the race. But someone more experienced than me had already been there. By race day, I was confident and prepared. I need to look for people who've "been there" whenever I face challenges and not be too proud to lean into them.
• Protect your feet. The best purchase I made was a great pair of shoes. Your feet take a pounding when you're walking long distances. I wish they had been waterproof. There's a lesson in there about having a good foundation if you think about it.
• You can never get too much encouragement. There were strangers lining the course cheering for me all the way. My favorites were the old nuns with walkers & wheelchairs in front of the retirement home -- wearing pig noses! My wife and daughter (Team Sims) met me several places along the course & at the finish line. They were always beaming with pride, taking pictures and telling me how good I looked (liars!). Parkside's water station (mile 21) was the best. Familiar faces. A few surprised looks (that's Andy!). Lots of love. At one point, it occurred to me that the thousands of well-wishers along the course had been in the rain for hours also. What if I was that dedicated to encouragement every day?
  

Marathons are never finished in one, giant leap. It took me 46,271 steps to complete those 26.2 miles (yes, my ipod counted). I tried not to think about how many more were ahead or how much the last one hurt. One step at a time. It still amazes me how many steps I took from start to finish. No question about it -- the hardest was (and always is) the first step.