Num. 41 - Humble, Texas

41. I’m astounded by how faithfully God has always provided for all of our needs.

Meeka married me in 1990, moved from Calgary, Alberta (the Canadian Rockies!), and settled into a 300 square foot apartment in Humble, Texas. What else do I need to tell you about her to convince you of her awesomeness? Seriously! 

And so there we started our life together over thirty years ago. I was a part-time tennis pro, full-time student; she worked in a start-up in our community before working for start-ups was a thing. We didn’t have a credit card, and we had one car, which was a red 1988 Jeep Comanche pick-up.

Our apartment was across a busy farm-to-market road (See Texas road maps) from a shopping mall and a newly built Pappasitos Catina. Not long after we moved in, Fiesta Grocery opened one of its flagship stores near us. That’s where we did our grocery shopping. Okay, “grocery” shopping may be a generous description of what we were doing back then. We’d hunt for deals in the isles with diligence and resolve. I usually pushed the buggy, and Meeka operated the calculator tallying our bill as we went. Once we hit fifty bucks, we headed for check out. Then, back home in our 300 square foot palace, we’d get the tomato soup going.

There’s much more I could tell you about this simple life we shared those first few years. Suffice to say, we started off in a humble place called Humble, Texas. How romcom is that?! And here we are, against all the odds, over thirty years, three kids + a daughter-in-law, a home in Franklin, Tennessee, and friends and family members who have never stopped loving us. We can buy more groceries now, and our home is a little bigger than 300 square feet. We still use calculators, just not at the grocery store. 

We think back to the miles we’ve covered and marvel at where we are. Neither of us came from wealthy families, nor have we won the lottery. Yet, we both know how to work hard. And we have had more than our fair share of kindness and generosity showed to us. More importantly, neither one of us has ever really doubted that God would supply for every single need. As a result, not only do we have enough for our family’s needs, but we are also able to share with others. 

More than thirty years in, we are full of gratitude. Gratitude is the constant that chases away the fears and worries in our life. Gratitude is what strengthens us to take risks and take grand adventures. We married each other when we were 19 and 20 years old. Now we are in our fifties. As the years have added up, our gratitude is increasingly matched by awe: Wow. Here we are, God. You have been so kind to us.

Num. 40 - Money and Motorcycles

40. My relationship with money and motorcycles has evolved.

My first job was mowing lawns in the neighborhood when I was in the 4th grade. My family lived in a small East Texas town. Our house was a one-story red brick home with a carport and three steps you had to climb to enter the house. It was owned by the church where my dad worked. This humble parsonage was located in a modest neighborhood on the northeast side of town. At the end of our street were acres of piney woods where I would imagine all sorts of worlds with my friends. A large open field sat behind an elementary school two blocks over. Directly behind our house was a sawmill. And at the other end of the street was Waltrip Yamaha Shop. 

I'd ride my bike to the shop and daydream of riding one of the bright yellow motorcycles. One day a used dirt bike just my size showed up on the lot. I came home and told my dad all about it. I went to bed with visions of riding the motorcycle racing through my mind. My dad picked me up at school in our Volkswagen Van the next day. I climbed inside and sat down in the shotgun seat. We were nearly home when dad, to my surprise, pulled into the motorcycle shop. "Let's see that bike you were telling me about," my dad said to me as he parked the van. I eagerly hopped out and ran to where I last saw the bike the night before. It was gone! 

Dad led us inside to ask about the used bike. Much to my chagrin, the owner told us it had sold. Twenty-four hours' worth of dreams evaporated in a second. The owner showed us to the back, where it was being held for the new owner. The SOLD tag hung from the handlebar, confirming my disappointment. "Who bought it?" Dad asked. Dad nudged me to look at the name on the tag. "Chad Karger," the tag read!

It should be noted that Dad loved all things with motors, especially motorcycles. So it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine Dad was as excited about me having this bike as I was. Before we left the shop with the bike, Dad explained that we had to make 24 payments to finish buying the motorcycle. He handed me a small booklet with notes attached for $25 each. Dad explained that he had put a downpayment on the bike, and I was responsible for the monthly payments. As he handed me the booklet with the payments, he said, "You've got to get a job to pay for this." And so I started mowing my neighbors' lawns.

In other words, my first job was a means to pay for the joy of riding that motorcycle. My dad was many beautiful things to me, but he was not a stickler for saving money! He was a risk-taker! He taught me to find those things that brought me joy and do them with gusto. He turned me loose on that motorcycle in a way I'm not sure I'd do with my own kids when they were that age! His generosity and encouragement wasn't limited to me. He and my mom poured themselves into their work and into people's lives. They were always looking for ways to teach and impart wisdom. So, when he handed me that payment book and told me to get to work, I happily did so. In exchange, I got countless hours on that motorcycle. I rode that dirt bike until I was thirteen, when it finally wouldn't crank. 

Later in my life, I watched my parents occasionally struggle to make ends meet. Even as they approached their retirement years, my sister and I knew that things would be tight. Yet, there were countless joys that they had secured at the expense of more money in the bank. Yet, through it all, they never lost their desire to help others. Far from it, in retirement, they continued to invest their time, talents, and treasures into assisting others in finding a similar joy and faith. Theirs was a sense of peace and security that more money could not have purchased.  

When it comes to money, all of us are making trade-offs in spending and investing. Meeka and I chose to accept financial constraints to pursue our joy. This goes all the way back to getting married young. We made other choices like Meeka staying home with our kids, and I chose to pursue a professional calling in ministry and non-profit work. We also prioritized generosity. To be sure, we have enjoyed adventures and life's pleasures. We have many creature comforts around us and marvel at how God has been more than generous to us along the way. Thankfully, we have money set aside for emergencies and retirement. Not only that, we've amassed a treasure chest full of amazing stories of mind-blowing ways God moved others on our behalf to invest in us and thus inspire us to invest in and encourage others.

I’ve owned one other motorcycle (which a good friend gave to me!) since that Yamaha 80. I eventually traded in the motorcycle for a mountain bike. The bicycle has kept me fit, been a fantastic outlet, and is cheaper to maintain. I still look back with deep fondness on my days of riding that dirt bike. There were lessons learned on that bike I’ll have to write about one of these days. 

Num. 37, 38, 39 - YNWA

37. I feel like I've got at least one more book in me, and I worry that I will make it too complicated.
I'm working on this. Instead of feeling like I'm running out of time as I approach my mid-fifties, it feels like I finally have something I want to share. 

38. I am comfortable being alone and working alone. But, I love being with people and accomplishing things with others.
Working alone affords me the space to think much longer without interruption, shape ideas, and understand more. Rejoining my colleagues, friends, or family energizes and rejuvenates me. At the end of the day, I look forward to reconnecting with Meeka or an impromptu happy hour with our neighbors. Catching up with my kids on the phone or by text brings me joy and encouragement. For me, isolation is best when balanced by connection and vice versa.  

39. I wish I had played football growing up. Not American Football
I grew up playing tennis. I loved the sport in my youth and probably would still enjoy it if I spent more time playing it. I occasionally enjoy watching tennis on television when the players aren't grunting like every shot is their last dying gasp! But, seriously, isn't that so annoying?! 

All three of my kids took up football very early (Soccer is the name most Americans use to refer to what the rest of the world calls football. It's not wrong. Still, I prefer football since, after all, the sport is predominantly played at your feet.) Our three kids quickly found a challenging activity that connected them with teammates in the sport. They all excelled, poured countless hours into improving, learned valuable lessons about themselves, played matches across the state of Texas and beyond, and endured all sorts of frustrations and disappointments along the way. Meeka and I loved watching them play, too. I hated to see them lose, but there was something in every match that gave me a deep sense of pleasure. Don't get me wrong, I had my fair share of frustrations! And, yes, I might have "spoken" to refs from the touchlines (sidelines) a time or two. But, it was ultimately an absolute joy watching them and supporting them. 

Along the way, I became a fan of the sport in the world. I love that it is, in fact, a worldwide sport that has so many cultural infusions and influences. I also love the simplicity of the match. Unlike American Football, there are so few rules. Another departure from football, basketball, and baseball, the footballers (players) have to improvise and execute without the aid of timeouts, huddles, and play-callers shouting at them through an earpiece. Instead, when the whistle blows, the 22 players (11 a-side) on the pitch (field) decide the match's outcome through creative, skillful, and gritty play!

Speaking of grit, the endurance required to play at a high level is without parallel. The average player in the middle of the pitch will run over six miles in a match! Most of those miles are covered in wind sprints and eat up tons of oxygen in the leg muscles. Yet, with heavy legs and a pounding heart, the professional footballer still manages silky touches and missile-like strikes to the back of the net (goals!). Amazing!

Let's address the ugly elephant in the room: diving or flopping. In the rules that govern the sport, diving is known as simulation. Whatever you want to call it, we all agree it's an ugly and unfortunate part of football. It is disgusting watching otherwise healthy, strong, coordinated men throw themselves to the ground at the slightest contact while glancing at the referee, hoping to get a call. Players who simulate fouls like this are supposed to be given a yellow card (two yellows get you thrown out of the match and your team plays a man down the remaining time, and you're suspended from the next match). But, for whatever reason, refs throughout the world are slow to show yellow for the deception. So I say, Stop the flop!

Speaking of disciplinary actions in football, few people know about my infamy in the local church league several years ago. But, I'm not going to lie. I'm proud of my reputation among the 10 people who know I earned the only two red cards that season. In fact, my appreciation for the sport grew because I received those cards. You see, I was working hard on the pitch, working up and back. I was covering a lot of ground and trying to make good passes and lawful tackles (a tackle is when you take the ball from the opposing player; this particular league didn't allow much contact, nor did it sanction slide tackling). Unfortunately, as my body's fatigue grew, my fine motor skills waned. My precision, in other words, eventually left my body. Having already been warned by the ref to chill on both occasions, I was too aggressive. I lacked deftness, which translated into my opponents holding their ankles on the pitch. No, they weren't diving! Yes, I was clumsy and lacked skill. Yet, the opposition knew that if they dribbled on my side of the pitch, they were likely to get a knock! (minor injury)

One final thought on this topic. In European football, Liverpool, the team I follow, plays in the English Premier League, the top league in England. How I became a Liverpool fan is for another day. Suffice to say, one of my favorite traditions at Anfield, Liverpool's home pitch, is when the supporters (fans) serenade the players once they have taken the pitch singing the "You'll Never Walk Alone" (a show tune written by Rogers and Hammerstein in 1945!) In fact, the phrase "You'll Never Walk Alone" is the motto of the Liverpool Football Club worldwide. Its letters stir deep emotions amongst the supporters from every walk of life: YNWA.

Me, circa 1981 in Freeport, Tx. The second of my two-season football career (Note: Unfortunate team name verrrrry 1981)