When I was a young teenager, our front pond was the setting of many a hockey game. Most often the teams had only two, at most three, people on them. We organized our teams based on how many of my siblings came outside to play. Since we often only played in the evenings, after chores and homework were done, Dad ran an electrical cable from the house and set up a flood light for us. With no equipment other than sticks, and only one net, still we thought we were in the big leagues with that light!
I haven’t held a stick or touched a puck since then.
The truth is I like hockey, but I’m not an avid fan. I love when my team, the Calgary Flames, make it to playoffs. Those games I never miss. But once they are out of the running, I am too. It’s possible I don’t even know who’s vying for Lord Stanley’s Cup this year.
This past week I flew to Ottawa. My long-time, dear friend, Louanne, called early one morning last week. Before I picked up the phone, I saw who it was and feared she might be calling with news of her husband who is in palliative care. I was so wrong. Her youngest adult son, Eric, had unexpectedly passed away in his sleep. I could not comprehend what she was telling me. It just would not sink in.
Louanne and I have been friends forever. Her dad and my dad were best friends, as were our mothers. She was born five months after me. We’ve been friends our whole lives. All our siblings were friends too in those early years. We camped together and picnicked together and grew up together, and though we live in different parts of the country and though our lives have taken different directions, we’ve stayed friends ever since. Not knowing what else to do, to Ottawa I went.
My brother flew down with me. It was so good to be together for this. When we arrived at the church for the funeral, arriving in the parking lot 35 minutes before the service was to begin, the large parking lot was already almost full. Entering the church, we saw what can only be described as a wall of hockey players, all dressed in their finest black suits, filling pew after pew of the right-hand side of the church. It was overwhelming to see all these young men, some who had played with Lou’s oldest son in the NHL, some with Eric in the league just below, all sitting together in respectful support. We later estimated there to be at least one hundred and fifty of them.
I couldn’t help but hope (and pray) the service wouldn’t let them down. I was raised Catholic, and I wish I hadn’t been to so many Catholic funerals, but I have. Let’s just say sometimes to those not familiar with the formal nature of the Catholic funeral mass, these events can feel cold. Often, people do not know the prayers or hymns, cannot relate, find the service less than personal, and leave feeling disappointed rather than comforted. I knew how much these young men were suffering in their grief, as were the rest of us, and I really hoped they would find some comfort at this service.
Maybe it was my praying that did the trick, but I doubt it. As soon as the mass started, I felt my shoulders begin to relax. The officiating priest was beyond incredible. I have not ever heard any priest manage to reach an audience the way he did. He knew his audience and he had gone to considerable effort to make his words relevant to all who were in attendance. In my opinion, he scored a winning goal.
As he spoke about moving forward in our grief, he reminded us to continue to be willing to take risks on love. It would be easy he said, to try to protect our hearts by not exposing them to hurt. But we would be missing out on so much possibility by doing so. Then he added, ‘Keep your head up and your stick on the ice’. The chuckles rippling through the church indicated he was speaking in a familiar language.
He told all of us what good advice this was. We need our heads up, we need to look around, so we can see the big picture of our lives, to plan ahead, and to dream. And we need our stick on the ice, so we are ready to engage in life as it presents itself to us moment by moment.
This is the secret. It’s the beautiful dance between being and doing. Of noticing the long game while living in the moment. When we master this, we create a life where magic happens, just like players on a hockey team make magic when they see the possibilities around them, while focusing on the details of the immediate task, or possibility, in front of them. Both things matter.
These men, all dressed in their finest could relate. They already knew this concept of head up and stick on the ice. In fact, from everything I heard that day, they’ve been practicing it since they were little boys. They’ve all had their heads up. They had big goals, made sacrifices, and could see the big picture of what they needed to do to get to where they, as individuals, wanted to be. They also somehow managed to see the big picture of friendship. At the same time kept their sticks on the ice, at the ready for everything coming their way. Last week, an unwelcome puck came to them from a most unexpected place. Somehow, they knew just what to do in this most critical moment. They gathered and demonstrated unfailing support, even in their moment of unthinkable grief.
We filed out of church in two lines, one from the right and one from the left. I walked beside one of these men, tears streaming down both our faces. I couldn’t help but think to myself, we all need to be on a hockey team.
My challenge for you this week is, ‘Keep your head up and your stick on the ice’.
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching. She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society. She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching. She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how keep your head up and stick on the ice.
I haven’t held a stick or touched a puck since then.
The truth is I like hockey, but I’m not an avid fan. I love when my team, the Calgary Flames, make it to playoffs. Those games I never miss. But once they are out of the running, I am too. It’s possible I don’t even know who’s vying for Lord Stanley’s Cup this year.
This past week I flew to Ottawa. My long-time, dear friend, Louanne, called early one morning last week. Before I picked up the phone, I saw who it was and feared she might be calling with news of her husband who is in palliative care. I was so wrong. Her youngest adult son, Eric, had unexpectedly passed away in his sleep. I could not comprehend what she was telling me. It just would not sink in.
Louanne and I have been friends forever. Her dad and my dad were best friends, as were our mothers. She was born five months after me. We’ve been friends our whole lives. All our siblings were friends too in those early years. We camped together and picnicked together and grew up together, and though we live in different parts of the country and though our lives have taken different directions, we’ve stayed friends ever since. Not knowing what else to do, to Ottawa I went.
My brother flew down with me. It was so good to be together for this. When we arrived at the church for the funeral, arriving in the parking lot 35 minutes before the service was to begin, the large parking lot was already almost full. Entering the church, we saw what can only be described as a wall of hockey players, all dressed in their finest black suits, filling pew after pew of the right-hand side of the church. It was overwhelming to see all these young men, some who had played with Lou’s oldest son in the NHL, some with Eric in the league just below, all sitting together in respectful support. We later estimated there to be at least one hundred and fifty of them.
I couldn’t help but hope (and pray) the service wouldn’t let them down. I was raised Catholic, and I wish I hadn’t been to so many Catholic funerals, but I have. Let’s just say sometimes to those not familiar with the formal nature of the Catholic funeral mass, these events can feel cold. Often, people do not know the prayers or hymns, cannot relate, find the service less than personal, and leave feeling disappointed rather than comforted. I knew how much these young men were suffering in their grief, as were the rest of us, and I really hoped they would find some comfort at this service.
Maybe it was my praying that did the trick, but I doubt it. As soon as the mass started, I felt my shoulders begin to relax. The officiating priest was beyond incredible. I have not ever heard any priest manage to reach an audience the way he did. He knew his audience and he had gone to considerable effort to make his words relevant to all who were in attendance. In my opinion, he scored a winning goal.
As he spoke about moving forward in our grief, he reminded us to continue to be willing to take risks on love. It would be easy he said, to try to protect our hearts by not exposing them to hurt. But we would be missing out on so much possibility by doing so. Then he added, ‘Keep your head up and your stick on the ice’. The chuckles rippling through the church indicated he was speaking in a familiar language.
He told all of us what good advice this was. We need our heads up, we need to look around, so we can see the big picture of our lives, to plan ahead, and to dream. And we need our stick on the ice, so we are ready to engage in life as it presents itself to us moment by moment.
This is the secret. It’s the beautiful dance between being and doing. Of noticing the long game while living in the moment. When we master this, we create a life where magic happens, just like players on a hockey team make magic when they see the possibilities around them, while focusing on the details of the immediate task, or possibility, in front of them. Both things matter.
These men, all dressed in their finest could relate. They already knew this concept of head up and stick on the ice. In fact, from everything I heard that day, they’ve been practicing it since they were little boys. They’ve all had their heads up. They had big goals, made sacrifices, and could see the big picture of what they needed to do to get to where they, as individuals, wanted to be. They also somehow managed to see the big picture of friendship. At the same time kept their sticks on the ice, at the ready for everything coming their way. Last week, an unwelcome puck came to them from a most unexpected place. Somehow, they knew just what to do in this most critical moment. They gathered and demonstrated unfailing support, even in their moment of unthinkable grief.
We filed out of church in two lines, one from the right and one from the left. I walked beside one of these men, tears streaming down both our faces. I couldn’t help but think to myself, we all need to be on a hockey team.
My challenge for you this week is, ‘Keep your head up and your stick on the ice’.
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching. She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society. She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching. She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how keep your head up and stick on the ice.
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