Wondering or Wandering?

Christmas always fills my head and heart with lots of questions.  Curious by nature, I find myself wondering about most every character in the story.  The magi seems to be the most mysterious of all.  Remember their visit?

“On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother, Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him…” Matthew 2:11

Matthew alone records the visit of the gift-giving wise men.  Though they saw both Jesus and Mary, they worshipped only the Savior.  Have you ever wondered why they made the trip?   Perhaps they started out on their search motivated by politics or they thought this new king could help them defeat Rome.  Maybe they came out of boredom or curiosity.  Could it have been the emptiness inside that led to their visit?

Whatever their motives, the Bible tells us that when they saw Him, they fell down and worshipped Him and I believe that gift was more valuable than their gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

I am reminded that worship is a gift each of us can offer this Christmas.

Hundreds of years ago when people addressed prayers to people, the mother of Constantine, at that time ruler of the world, wrote the following prayer to the three wise men who came to Jesus:

“Like me…you were late in coming.  The shepherds were here long before you; even the cattle.  They had joined the chorus of angels before you were on your way…how laboriously you came, taking sights and calculating where the shepherds had run barefoot.  How odd you looked on the road attended by what outlandish liveries, laden with such preposterous gifts!  Yet you came and were not turned away.   You too found room before the manger.  Your gifts were not needed but they were accepted and put carefully by, for they were brought with love. In that new order of charity that had just come to life, there was room for you too.  You were not lower in the eyes of the holy family than the ox or the donkey.  You are the patrons of all latecomers, of all who have a tedious journey to make to the truth. Of all who are confused with knowledge and speculation, of all who through politeness make themselves partners in guilt, of all who stand in danger by reason of their talents. Dear cousins, pray for me and my poor overloaded son.  May he too, before the end, find kneeling space in the straw…”

In a world filled with far too many desperate places like Aleppo, I pray that all who don’t know the Savior may find their kneeling space and the moment when their wandering ceases and they are captured by the wonder of Jesus.

This Christmas, where is the one born King of the Jews?  He is right here, ready, willing and able to meet every need, but we must not lose the wonder.

Oswald Chambers once wrote…

“Faith is the inborn capacity to see God behind everything, the wonder that keeps you an eternal child. Wonder is the very essence of life. Beware always of losing the wonder…”

My hope and prayer is that wherever we may wander we will never lose the wonder of what happened in Bethlehem’s manger 2,000 years ago.  God bless you and Merry Christmas!

 

Words

Twitter only allows 140 characters in a tweet.  While many find it frustrating to complete a thought in this limited amount of space, our current cultural collide has left me wondering if everyone should have a daily word limit.  Kind of like a speed limit, maybe we would allow five words over but after that you pay a giant fine.  While enforcement might be a challenge, imagine how it could change future presidential campaigns!

I write this as someone who likes to talk, and for much of my life I’ve been compensated for talking.  I’m also convinced that I should have learned early in life to ration my words.  Don’t believe me?  Ask my family.  Ask my coworkers.  Ask my students.  Actually you could ask strangers who met me on an airplane or in a grocery store line!

Maybe it is because I’m getting older or maybe I’m getting wiser, but these days I’m trying really hard to be quieter.  James’ admonition in the New Testament to “be quick to listen and slow to speak” has taken on new meaning for me in the midst of hearing so many negative, angry, and sometimes dangerous words.

Rabbi Baal Shem Tov believed that everyone was given a word limit for their life.  When all of their words had been used, then they died.  Apparently by choosing words wisely and guarding one’s tongue, your life expectancy could increase.  If only this were true!

Words can last a lifetime, and that may be a blessing or a curse.  Words welcome us as well as wear us out.  Words can be so hurtful and hateful, but they can also bring healing and hope.  Words can cut or create.  Words have the power to take us to the depths of our soul or lift us up to the heights of heaven.  Sometimes all that I have written in this short paragraph about words can happen in a single conversation.

If you ever wonder about the value of words, consider the study that was done over 30 years ago by Tom Risley and Betty Hart.  These two researchers studied a group of children between birth and three years of age.  These little ones, from a variety of socioeconomic backgrounds, provided some remarkable findings about the power and possibility of words.  Here is the big takeaway from their research:  Children from low socioeconomic backgrounds will have heard 30 million fewer words by the age of three than their peers from more affluent conditions.  As you can imagine this “word gap” creates a host of challenges for these little ones as they try to navigate our school systems and compete with their peers.

So here’s a possible solution for those of us who tend to be a bit more verbose:  Talk to a child!  Read to them!  Tell them stories; maybe some of your story.  Invest in them, especially those who need someone to stand in the gap.  Surely we’ve got a million or two words to spare.

Regardless of who you talk, tweet, text, or write to these days, here is some advice:

• Be nice
• Be positive
• Be careful
• Be prayerful
• And above all else, remember what your Mom taught you. If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

I leave you with these anonymous words:

Be sure to taste your words before you spit them out.

 

Superheroes

Superhero costumes are the most popular this year according to a salesperson interviewed for our local newspaper.  Are we surprised?  In the chaos and craziness of our culture when breaking news brings another round of discouragement for so many of us, superheroes seem to be in short supply.

Growing up a few miles from Cape Canaveral my bedroom walls were decorated with 8×10 inch color glossy photos of astronauts.  Men like John Glenn, Gus Grissom, and Alan Shepard had autographed these pictures and their adventures had captured my imagination.  As a fourth grader I remember vividly the disaster that took the lives of Grissom, White, and Chaffee when Apollo 1 caught fire during a simulation test on the launch pad.  Our community and the country mourned the tragic loss of three men who were as close to superheroes as we had ever known.

One of my other heroes in those days appeared regularly on television.  His name was Popeye the Sailorman and he gained supernatural strength by eating spinach.  As a skinny kid who wanted even the semblance of a few muscles, I tasked my mother with the assignment to purchase me some spinach.  In one of my earliest memories I can see myself greeting my mother as she came in the door from the base commissary with bags of groceries.  I wanted my can of spinach because I was convinced it would transform my pitiful physique in an instant.  When Mom told me that she had to cook it first, I protested.  “Popeye doesn’t cook his spinach.  He eats it straight out of the can!”  Mom won the argument and I sat down at the table to eat what tasted and smelled like seaweed out of the Atlantic Ocean.  It was a depressing day for me.  My hopes of muscles evaporated because I knew I could never eat a whole can of spinach, even if my life depended on it.

Years later I heard Pastor Bill Hybels from Willow Creek Community Church talk about what he describes as a “Popeye moment.”  It is that moment when a person quotes Popeye’s famous line:

“I’ve had all I can stands…I can’t stands no more!”

Moses had one of those moments.  So did David.  Add Martin Luther to this list along with Rosa Parks.  Candace Lightner had a Popeye moment too.  She is the founder of Mothers Against Drunk Drivers, an organization created after the death of her 13-year-old daughter, Cari, who was killed by a drunk driver.  Thousands and thousands of others have that moment of what Hybels calls “Holy Discontent.”  Something has to be done and someone steps up and asks and answers the question, “Why not me?”

Years ago I read an article about responses to emergencies.  According to the author, individuals ask three questions when confronted by something that looks like a crisis situation:

1. Is it really an emergency?
2. Who is responsible?
3. Am I capable of doing anything to help?

Good questions and perhaps the questions we should all be answering in these days when we are so tempted to dress like superheroes.

 

 

R.I.P.

I love the grave marker for Billy Graham’s beloved wife, Ruth.  Note the final words:

“End of construction — Thank you for your patience.”

How great is that!  She reminds us that we are all in process and under construction (or at least we should be) until our body wears out and our soul makes the transition to eternal life.

Wander through a cemetery (something I think we should all do at least annually) and you will often see “R.I.P.” on tombstones.  The Latin “Requiescat in Pace” or “Rest in Peace” first showed up on grave markers in the 8^th century.  By the 18^th century it became quite common on the graves of Christians.  The idea can be traced to this Old Testament verse from Isaiah:

“For those who follow godly paths will rest in peace when they die.”  Isaiah 57:2 (NLT)

Seems to me that resting in peace might be more appropriate for while we are alive.  When I find myself struggling to sleep (something that happens from time to time and may be a sign of my accumulating years) I begin to conduct a bit of an inventory to determine what is stealing my sleep.  More often than not it is because I am not at peace.  I’ve gone to bed worried about a person or a project or a problem.

I heard a story recently about a person who was facing a challenge and a friend asked him if he was worried.  His response:  “Would it help?”  My response to that story:  Wow!  So true, how does worrying help.  The best antidote to worry is prayer so when I find myself struggling to rest in peace, I pray.

Peaceful people are people under construction because someone or something is almost always trying to steal your peace and the absence of peace prevents us from living out our passion.

So these days I’m doing my best to rest in peace and rise up with passion.  All the while remembering that Ruth Bell Graham was right, I am still under construction.  Please be patient!

 

 

Calling Home

Walking through our Student Center a few weeks ago I was stopped by one of our newest students who wanted to know what I was doing on the weekend of September 16^th.  Uncertain about my calendar or his request I inquired to learn the reason for his question.  His response was short and simple:

“I need you to be my Dad for that weekend.”

My young friend is a member of our basketball team and each year in preparation for their season the coaches lead a father and son retreat, complete with the coaches’ fathers in attendance too.   These adventures provide a time for the guys to eat unhealthy food, compete in a variety of games, take on some crazy undertaking (this year it was paintball), and make some lifelong memories.  Without checking my calendar, I knew that I was in.  Whatever the conflict, I would cancel, whatever the obstacle, I would find a way to remove.  How can one say no to the opportunity to stand-in for a young man whose father lives on another continent with no possibility of joining this annual expedition?

For the past 5 years I had heard powerful stories that came from these retreats but I had never experienced one.  Now I have and the experience was even better than the stories. What a privilege to have a ringside seat to something very seldom seen or heard in our cyber-world of text messaging, social media, and the Velcro-like attachment of our “smart” phones.  As a guy who grew up without a father, the weekend created all sorts of emotions for me and reminded me of how grateful I am that God sent some wonderful men along as “borrowed Dads” along the way.

Over the course of a few hours this past weekend I witnessed earthly fathers doing their best imitation of their heavenly Father.  Their prayers, their words of affirmation, and their hugs and high fives gave me hope and encouraged me to wish that for every boy and girl, regardless of their age.

The weekend also reminded me of those opening words from the most famous prayer ever offered:

“Our Father which art in heaven…”

If you study the life of Jesus’ time on earth you will discover that He was a son that liked to call home.  On a regular basis, we find Jesus calling home to talk to His Father.  When his disciples asked him for help in learning how to pray, He offered the model prayer that most of us know as the Lord’s Prayer.  Jesus didn’t teach His disciples this prayer to be used as some kind of packaged devotional or a “Get Out of Jail Free Card.” He wants it to be a model for regular calls to our heavenly home.

I confess to you that I understand prayer about as well as I understand how a “smart” phone works or any phone for that matter.  It makes no sense at all to me that I can pick up a phone and dial some numbers and instantly be connected with someone on the other side of the world.  But my lack of understanding does not prevent me from using a telephone nor does it prevent me from praying.

Jesus, in these first few words of the Lord’s Prayer, was offering a completely new image of God to His listeners.  Read the Old Testament and you will find that God was almost always referred to as YAHWEH and was rarely spoken because of the awe and reverence associated with the name.  Only seven times in the Old Testament was God referred to as Father and those references were indirect, and rather remote.  It is difficult for us to understand the significance of calling God:  Our Father.  What is a common practice today was revolutionary in Jesus’ day.  The word for Father is the word “Abba” – it was an everyday word, completely common.  It can easily be translated:  DAD.  It was a term of endearment.  No Jew would have ever dared address God in this manner.  But Jesus did, every time He prayed with one notable exception:  when He was hanging on the cross.

More than 200 times in the Gospels, Jesus refers to God as Father.  In His very first recorded words, Jesus explained to His parents where He was when they thought He was lost by saying:

“Didn’t you know I would be in my Father’s house?”

An accident?  I don’t think so.  Jesus understood that your image of God would have a major impact on your willingness and eagerness to call home.

I love it when my kids call home.  It makes my day.  Whether they need something or just want to talk I’m always eager to hear from them and I believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that the same is true for our heavenly Father.  So if you haven’t talked to Our Dad in a while, I hope you will call home today!

 

 

 

 

Agnes and a Rubber Band

Rubber bands come in all shapes, sizes, and colors…sort of like people.  Rubber bands serve no meaningful purpose until stretched.  Could the same be said about people?

Perhaps the best modern day example of someone who was willing to be stretched was a little lady who was given the name Agnes at birth. The world came to know her by a different name.

Born in Macedonia, by the age of 12 she realized her life purpose was to aid the poor.  At the age of 18 she joined a community of Irish nuns with a mission in Calcutta.  She spent 17 years as a teacher and a principal at St. Mary’s high school in this city of almost five million.

At the age of 36 her life changed forever when she became ill with tuberculosis.  During a train ride that took her out of Calcutta to recover, she felt God calling her to serve Him among the poorest of poor.  It took her two years to convince church authorities of her new ministry.

In 1950, she started an order with 12 members.  Today there are 4,000 nuns running orphanages, AIDS hospices and other charity centers around the world.  In 1952 she established a home for the dying and destitute.  Homeless people, uncared for and unacceptable at other institutions, were washed, fed and allowed to die with dignity. She challenged the complacent and status quo with words like these…

“One of the greatest diseases is to be nobody to anybody.”

After 29 years of service behind the scenes and out of the spotlight she was recognized with a Nobel Peace Prize.  Wearing the same $1 Sari she had always worn, this little nun accepted the award.  The Pope gave her a white Lincoln Continental.  She auctioned the car off using the money to establish a leper colony.

In 1990, she had a nearly fatal heart attack and she announced her intention to resign as head of her order.  A short time later there was a secret vote among the sisters of her order, she was re-elected unanimously.  The only dissenting vote was her own.

Gone almost 20 years, her legacy continues.  Her stretching and her service are contagious.  Mother Teresa, now Saint Teresa, lived a life of stretching, a life of selfless service.

Have you ever heard someone say, “I’m no Mother Teresa?”  Those people would receive high marks for honesty and self-awareness but I think Saint Teresa would have a response for them as she once said…

“If you can’t feed a hundred people, then feed just one.”

Another way to say it comes from Pastor Andy Stanley who teaches, “Do for one what you wish you could do for everyone.”

Here’s hoping we all find ways to stretch and serve…one person at a time.

Moses and Lawn Chair Larry

When death comes to your community, unexpectedly and tragically, the painful reminder of life’s brevity and fragility comes knocking or maybe pounding on your heart’s door.  Questions, some spoken, some silent, rattle around as we try to make sense out of what most often seems to make little sense.

So here’s this week’s fill-in-the-blank question for you:

If I had it to do all over again, I would _______________________________________.

You might say,

• Eat more vegetables (I wouldn’t but you might)
• Get more sleep
• Study more
• Work less
• Exercise more
• Spend less
• Give away more

Notice a theme?  More or less…less or more.  Which will it be and why?

This same fill-in-the-blank question was posed to some 90 years olds a few years ago in a sociological study.  When they compiled all of the answers, here were the TOP THREE responses:

1. Risk More
2. Reflect More
3. Do More that would Live On after I am Gone

All more, no less, yet I’m convinced that in order to do more, we have to choose to do less in some other area of our lives.

One of life’s realities is that we will all leave a legacy of some kind, for better or for worse.

Larry Walters left an unusual legacy.  He was a truck driver in Los Angeles who dreamed of flying.  He joined the Air Force but his poor eyesight disqualified him from pilot status. While sitting in his backyard watching planes fly overhead, he came up with a plan.

Larry went to his local Army Surplus store and purchased 45 weather balloons that he then filled with helium.  He tied these inflated weather balloons to his lawn chair that he had anchored to his Jeep, then he strapped himself into his lawn chair with some sandwiches, a pellet gun, and some beverages that we don’t allow any of you to drink.

The plan was to cut the cord, float up to about 30 feet, enjoy a few hours and then shoot out the weather balloons and float back down into his back yard.  Unfortunately things didn’t work out quite like Lawn Chair Larry had planned.

When his friends cut the cord, Larry shot up into the LA sky like a cannon.  He passed 30 feet in a hurry and continued up until he reached a cruising altitude of 16,000 feet.  Totally freaked out and scared of what to do, he simply drifted along with his sandwiches, beverages, and pellet gun for several hours while he considered his options.  At one point he crossed into the LA International Airport air space where his sighting was reported by a host of pilots on their final approach.

Finally he got the nerve to shoot out a few balloons and he began to slowly descend eventually getting tangled and caught in a power line creating a blackout in Long Beach.  Larry was able to climb to safety and was immediately arrested.

As he was led away a reporter dispatched to cover the rescue asked him why he had done it.  His response:  “A man just can’t sit around!”

Moses was a man who didn’t just sit around.  This Old Testament hero left a legacy far beyond setting the Guinness Book of World Records for leading the world’s largest and longest backpacking trip.  God used him to save a nation and though he was prevented from finishing the journey to the Promised Land, he had a chance to get a glimpse of the final destination of what we know as the great exodus.  These words were written about him in the twilight of his life…

 “Moses was a hundred and twenty years old when he died,

 yet his eyes were not weak nor his strength gone.”

When Moses dies Scripture tells us that God made all the funeral arrangements. No farewells, no fanfare.  He simply laid down and the Lord took his spirit.  Moses died alone, without family or friends standing at his side.  But Moses died secure, forever safe in the arms of a loving God.  There was no solemn procession, no stately funeral.  The Lord buried him privately.  Moses had finished the race, he had kept the faith, God took him for his crown.  “His eyes were not weak and his strength was not gone.”

At the time of his death Moses was 120 years old.  He had lived through twelve decades of hope and hardship.  Forty years as the Prince of Egypt, forty years of obscurity in the desert, and forty years leading a caravan of grumblers through the desert.  Through all this Moses never stopped growing.

The happiest, most fulfilled people I know are those that spend a life time growing in their love and knowledge of the Lord.  And I am convinced that those closest to us know when we quit growing. As for me, I want to be a life-long learner.  I want God to be teaching me things as long as my eyes are not weak and my strength is not gone.

If I had it to do over again………………..WE DON’T!  But we do have today and maybe tomorrow.

For most of us, our legacy will NOT be one big thing…a job, a decision, an event. But it consists of lots of little things…an act of kindness, consistency of service, an encouraging word, time invested, and prayers prayed.

May we all do more that will live on long after we are gone!

Alligator Arms

Everyone knows that alligators don’t have arms, right?

I love metaphors and “alligator arms” is one of my favorites!  A quick web search of the phrase will reveal a host of definitions from stingy to a wide receiver in football who is afraid to extend his arms to catch a pass. There is even a song on YouTube about alligator arms!

The absence of a willingness to stretch and sacrifice seems to be the overarching theme of this unusually descriptive metaphor.

Spend some time listening to stories and watching the action around Indiana Wesleyan University and I believe you will see whatever the opposite of alligator arms might be…maybe octopus arms!  In recent weeks I’ve heard story after story of extra mile service, from discovering a first-time campus guest lost and walking them to their destination, writing follow-up notes after visiting with a prospective student during a lunch, to connecting a graduating senior with their first post-university job, and the list goes on and on.

Service makes us better, draws us closer, and keep us truer as we seek to develop our students (and each other) in character, scholarship, and leadership.  It has been suggested that a servant is someone who observes a need and assumes personal responsibility to meet that need, under the direction of the Holy Spirit.

So here are three quick thoughts (and a few test questions) about serving:

• Serving is always optional. What did you do this week that you didn’t have to do, didn’t get paid for, and no one could make you do?
• Serving costs you something in time, in money, and maybe in emotions. What did you spend this week on service?
• YOU can serve according to how God made YOU.

I love the story of an elderly man who got a burden for the kids in his neighborhood.  He didn’t have a big developed plan or lots of money, but he decided to adopt a local high school and simply be present at all the events where visitors were welcome.  He made sure that the students knew that he thought they were special and that they mattered to him.  Somebody who watched him for a while asked him why he was wasting his time.  I love his response:  “You are right that I am not young, I’m not hip, and I don’t speak their language, but when I’m there, God’s got one more option than when I am not.”

Service is not about being great at something.  It is an opportunity.  It is a choice.  It is about giving God one more option.

 

The Exchange Zone

Every four years the relay events on the Olympic track remind us of a phrase that we don’t often use:  the exchange zone.  It is that 20 meter, or a little over 65 foot section, of a track where the baton has to be delivered successfully to a teammate in order not to be disqualified and successfully complete the race.  Once again an error in this space cost the men’s 4 x 100 relay team a bronze medal.

Lauryn Williams can identify with these disappointed young men.  Twice an Olympian, she was known by many as the fastest woman in the world.  I am told that even more important than her athletic ability is her faith in God.  What many remember about Lauryn though is what happened not once, but twice on an Olympic track.  As a member of the United States Women’s 400 meter relay team in Beijing in 2008, the baton pass between Torri Edwards and Lauryn Williams was blown when Williams failed to close her hand around that baton.  It was like adding insult to injury because at Athens back in 2004, Williams ran out of the exchange zone before the baton was passed.  She was the anchor in both races.

All that work, all those hours, all gone in a matter of seconds!

I find myself thinking about exchange zones today, not as a result of the Olympics, but because my granddaughter is on her way for a visit and I can hardly wait!

My friend, Ron Blue, has the best line about grandchildren.  He says,

“Grandchildren are God’s reward for not having killed your own kids.”

“You talking to Pop?” I heard that question from my granddaughter to her Dad last week when I was talking to him on the phone.  Can I tell you there is nothing quite as special as hearing your 2 year old granddaughter’s voice when she uses the name that she has picked out for you?

We called my grandfathers – Papa and G-Daddy.  Papa died when I was 9 and G-Daddy when I was 10.  But I have some great memories of them both.

We called my grandmothers – Mums and Nana.  Nana was actually first called Boo-Boo (like Yogi Bear), then Nana, and finally later in life, Granny.  Mums and Granny shared little in common.  Mums was a little like Mrs. Thurston Howell on Gilligan’s Island and Granny was almost exactly like Granny on the Beverly Hillbillies.  She never weighed 100 pounds in her whole life, but she was feisty.  Both grandmothers outlived their husbands by about 25 years.  Both loved Jesus and I know they loved me.  And like my grandfathers, both are gone now, but I have great memories.

So what does being a grandparent have to do with an exchange zone?  Everything!  You see it dawned on me that we all live in a variety of exchange zones.  If your grandparents are still living, then you are in the exchange zone with them.  Grandparents, statistics would tell us that your exchange zone with your children and grandchildren is getting shorter, but if you are still breathing, then you are in the exchange zone.

We make exchanges throughout the day each day.  It may be with someone serving us in a restaurant or helping us in the coffee shop.  While the exchange might be brief, never underestimate the impact you could have on another human life.

Some of my friends became first-time grandparents this past week.  If Facebook postings and photos are any indication, they are on Cloud Nine!  When I saw him this week, this new grandfather told me that he had dreams of dancing with his granddaughter at her wedding.

Here’s hoping we all have a long exchange zone filled with lots of magical memory-making moments!

 

My Favorite Olympian?

Michael Phelps?  Nadia Comaneci? Mark Spitz? Mary Lou Retton? Jessie Owens? Gail Devers? George Foreman?  Apollo Ono? Jackie Joyner-Kersee? Usain Bolt? Michael Jordan? Jim Thorpe? Dara Torres?  Greg Louganis? Muhammad Ali? Simone Biles? Eric Liddell?  Nope, not even close.  Great athletes, amazing stories, phenomenal achievements but they are not my favorite.

Jenny Thompson is my choice.  Never heard of her?  Don’t feel bad.  You would be in the majority and you may be surprised to know that Jenny is the most decorated American woman in Olympic competition. Between 1992 and 2004 her 12 Olympic medals (8 gold), won in 4 Olympics, also means that she has won more medals in swimming than any other female swimmer in history.

Here is why most people don’t remember her:  She didn’t win any of the gold medals in individual events; rather, she won them in a team event with three other swimmers.

As a result, some people have questioned whether Jenny’s swimming accomplishments ought to rank her with the “great” Olympic champions.

I’m not surprised.  We live in an iPhone, iMac, iPad, ego-driven culture which makes her accomplishments all the more refreshing to me.

I love teams and love the team I have the privilege of serving alongside. Here is my favorite definition of team:

A group of interdependent people committed to a common purpose who choose to collaborate in order to achieve exceptional results.

Great teams do just that, in sports, in business, in the church, and in the not-for-profit world. Jenny Thompson and her teammates provided a great picture of what can happen when talented individuals dedicate themselves to a shared goal and are “all in!”  Our true “stardom” occurs when we collaborate as part of a winning team.

Jenny Thompson won every one of her gold medals as a part of a team…I don’t think there is a better place to win them and for that reason she is my all-time favorite Olympian.

By the way, today, Jenny Thompson (now Dr. Jenny Cumpelik) is a key member of another team…a medical team where she serves as an anesthesiologist and surgeon.