Ezra, the gentleman soccer star

Ezra, looking to pass.

Olivia, hoping for a goal.

Over the past two seasons of Gloucester Parks & Recreation soccer, Ezra has had an extraordinary run. His teams went undefeated, 19-0, and won two straight championships in the 9-11 age group. It's all the more remarkable considering that from the spring season to the recently concluded fall season, the coaches changed and most of the players changed, with the only thing unchanged being the results.

Last Saturday, the Green Lightning, expertly coached by my good friend Omar Torres and his excellent assistant coach Brian Hudgins, won a grueling tournament in heart attack fashion -- the opposing side hit the crossbar or post of the Green Lightning three times in the match -- beating the vaunted Orange Crush 2-1. It was the third 48-minute match within the span of about 5 hours for the Green Lightning, of which Ezra, now 11 years old, was co-captain.

Ezra played his heart out. There are several things about Ezra I truly admire about his play on the soccer pitch. His heart, so big. His effort, unparalleled. His speed, among the tops in the league. His skill, again among the tops in the league. He plays hard but cleanly, doesn't talk trash to opponents, but lets his game do his talking.

He scored around six goals or so this season, half of them with his left foot even though he's naturally stronger with his right foot. Yet his play on the defensive end of the field is perhaps the strongest part of his game. He's relentless and time and again he ran down offensive players and stopped attacks seeming headed for sure goals; during the first game of the tournament following one furious sequence near halftime that left him hobbled, Ezra had to be carried off the field by a coach after taking a cleat to his achilles tendon. He returned to action after halftime.

While championships are a thrill -- in the spring season I coached Ezra's team the Gray Wolves that won the championship in sudden death penalty kicks over Coach Omar's side -- my enduring memory of this season had nothing to do with trophies, or goals, or hustling plays.

It has to do with Ezra's little sister, Olivia, and what it would have meant to him for her to score a goal. Ezra and Olivia have a special bond. It's always been so sweet to see how close they are and how much they enjoy being together. When I talked to my kids this summer to see who wanted to play soccer this fall, Olivia said she wanted to play so she could be on Ezra's team. She's taken to ballet, but even though she's only played one season of soccer, she wanted to spend her late summer and fall with her brother.

On the field at the start of the season Olivia was quite timid. Imagine a ballerina flitting down a soccer field and you've seen Olivia play soccer. But over the course of the season, she became emboldened. She started going after the ball, backed down less from the action on the field and started kicking it more during the games. By the end of the season, she really wanted to score a goal. It seemed an improbable thought ... but not to Ezra.

Coach Omar wanted her to score a goal as well. He would put her and Ezra together on the front line and tell her to just go get in the box in front of the goal. Ezra will find her. Many times Ezra passed up chances to work the ball in for his own shot at a goal to try to get a pass in to Olivia so she could score. He would run down the flank with the ball, his head up, looking for his little sister in her pink soccer shorts. He would dodge defenders, circle back, probe the defense, holding onto the ball waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect pass, always hoping it would happen.

It never did happen. Olivia had a shot or two, but it never quite panned out. Yet Ezra never stopped trying. And Olivia was so excited and tickled her older brother was trying so hard to help her score a goal.

I can't recall if it was Coach Omar or another parent who saw what Ezra was trying to do and described Ezra as a "gentleman." I like that. Ezra, the gentleman soccer star.

And that's how I see him.

Surprise! It's Another Birthday In The Sabo House!

Evie celebrates her 2nd birthday with joy.Dur

Here's what I love about Evie coming home from college for the weekend. It's not that it's her 19th birthday today, although that's tres bien. It's not that the laugh-o-meter in the Sabo household goes up many, many percentage points, although that is reason enough to pick her up from VCU and bring her home every weekend if we could.

No, what I love about our accomplished young artist is that she insists on snuggling with her little brothers when she gets home. This morning I found her on the couch with two little boys wrapped in a blanket watching a Disney movie. If she is on the couch -- and awake because the snoozing comes naturally to our second daughter -- and a little boy wanders within an arm's reach you can bet they're getting swept up for a snugglepalooza.

Evie training a young Seth in the snuggling arts.

The little boys, Seth and Judah, protest sometimes. But when "Frozen" or "The Incredibles" or other top flicks get popped into the DVD player, next thing you know it's brothers-sister bonding time on the couch. During the course of a given week I send Evie a great number of Snapchats of her little brothers in various moments and elements of cuteness. I think it pretty much is like food to her.

For me, it brings great contentment to see my older kids be such a big part of their younger brothers' and sisters' lives.  To see how they love them.  I'm a blessed man.

Happy birthday to my beautiful daughter Evie. I love you.

A pre-teen Evie

A Difference In `Justice' In America And The Middle East

Refugees arriving on a Greek island

A good friend of mine told me the story of a little boy with an arm that ended in a stub below his elbow. My friend was a volunteer soccer coach in a league of refugee boys in a large Midwestern city. The boys and their families were Muslim and had left their homes behind to come to America. They hailed from places like Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Eritrea and Syria, countries that swallow up their residents in sinkholes of bombings, shootings, starvation and other means of violent death.

One day at soccer practice my friend asked the Iraqi boy what happened to his arm. The boy explained that years earlier, when he was 4 and living in Iraq, he had stolen something in the market. He was caught and under Sharia law there was a stiff price to be administered for his crime. The penalty he paid was his hand that was hacked off.

Four years old.

I have a memory myself of stealing something in the store when I was a young child a little older than the Iraqi boy. I was standing in the checkout line at Wagner's Supermarket in Bend, Ore., and managed to filch a piece of candy and put it in my pocket. My memory is that it was a piece of hard candy. I glanced up to meet the stink eye of an older woman in line behind us. I don't recall anything happening to me; apparently the lady didn't rat me out. I certainly didn't lose my hand.

I tell this story because I've thought a lot about the refugees from the Middle East and Africa. We've all seen the pictures and read and watched the stories of the people who risk their lives to flee their countries in hopes that at least they may live. Or there's stories like that Iraqi boy, the one with the arm that ends in a stump.

I would encourage you to listen to this recent teaching by David Platt on the Biblical response to the refugee crisis. I have plenty of thoughts on the refugee crisis that I'll share in one or more upcoming posts. But listen to Platt's message as I found it enlightening: Message on refugees

The Day Seth Turns 3 Years Old

Seth rocks the shades he made at church.

Another day, another Sabo birthday. I have this standard joke that the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is ask myself if one of my kids has a birthday today. Yesterday it was Gabe's. Today it is Seth's birthday. I just heard Julie say that she can't believe she had him three years ago. Neither

He is a one of a kind Sabo kid. He's built completely differently than all of our other Sabo wee lads and lasses. He's just solid. That's the best way to put it. While our kids traditionally have been on the petite side at a young age, Judah broke the mold. He weighs more than Judah -- who is 1 1/2 years older -- and might weigh more than Olivia, who is almost 5 years older. That just means there's more to snuggle with.

He's affectionately called "Seffers" by most everyone in the house. It's a nickname we believe was coined by Evie and it's stuck. In fact, when he tell him he is "Seth" he disagrees. "I'm Seffers," he says.

He's a gentle guy with a kind heart and he's best friends with Judah. The other day they were having lunch together at the table and had the following conversation:

Judah: "Hey Seth, you want to play a pretend game where you're my brother and we're eating lunch together?"
Seth: "Okay Judah."

It's pretty cool when pretend and reality collide. Nothing but good times.

He likes Star Wars and Frozen and going to the beach, seeing his friends at church and snuggling with Mama, not in that order. He's very partial to Mama. And let's just say Mama loves snuggling with Seth. We all do. For however much longer it lasts.

My Eye-Opening Experience At A Nigerian Boarding School

Doing the wash at a Nigerian boarding school.

I wanted to share a link to a post I wrote for my missions work over on another blog I've launched with the Transformational Education Network. It's an inside look at my eye-opening experience at a Nigerian boarding school. It was one of those experiences I will never forget. It's something I believe can be a call to action for those of us who follow Jesus Christ.

Check it out here: Boarding school

When Everything Is Right In The World

Striking a pose

It was Tuesday night and it was five of my boys and me. Again. The ladies of the Sabo house were off to women's Bible study, two kids were at soccer practice, one was at work and so it was the lads' night out. We made a quick stop at the True Value hardware store to pick up some supplies for my new found DIY woodworking projects and then headed for the beach at Gloucester Point. These lovely fall evenings (note the lads are in shorts & t-shirts and it's late October) are too alluring, too perfect not to enjoy with one of the last romps at the beach.

When we arrived down at the pier that juts out into the York River (you don't need a license to fish from the pier, which means fishing is better in Gloucester) the boys started hamming it up and I snapped some photos. Then we noticed lots of people with cameras around. A kindly gentleman ambling out the pier informed us that an Antares rocket was supposed to take off from the Eastern Shore and we should be able to watch it blast into orbit from the pier. It was 6:15 p.m. Lift off into the October sky was scheduled for 6:22 p.m.

Heading out for a better view of the rocket launch

News that we would watch a real-life rocket launch caused quite a stir among the Sabo boys. This was more than we bargained for. Are you kidding? This was really good news. Like, really good. You go to the beach trying to kill some time and you're going to watch a rocket streak into the night? For reals? Dude. From Gloucester Point to the launch site on the Eastern Shore of Virginia at Wallops Island, as the rocket crow flies, is about 70 miles -- it's double that by car -- so supposedly we would have a real good view from a safe distance.

I was armed with two cameras -- my iPhone5C and my Canon T5i -- and was really stoked to try the time-lapse feature on my iPhone. I figured that would be killer for a rocket launch. As we waited at the end of the pier, we encountered one variable that threatened to derail my photography efforts. Seth seemed intent on seeing if the water was still warm and kept leaning through the rails, even as Gabe wore him like a straitjacket. In the interest of safety I reluctantly herded my gaggle of Sabos back onto the beach. We still had an unobstructed view out over Chesapeake Bay where the rocket was allegedly going to streak into the nearly cloudless indigo twilight, but better yet, if Seth was intent on taking a dip at least we could fish him out before he got in way over his head.

It was 6:21. Seth was getting wet and was covered in sand, the four other boys were having races up and down the beach and some people behind us were getting the play-by-play of the rocket launch over some sort of hand-held device. It wasn't a Walkman, I know that. I was focused on the eastern horizon with my two cameras -- in between preventing Seth from becoming a mini-Jacques Cousteau. The people behind us, a mom and dad and two kids, started the countdown. The four Sabo boys slowed down then stopped to watch, their labored breaths mixing with the sound of the river washing ashore in tiny waves. Seth eyed the water.

Houston, we are ready for the rocket launch

The voices behind us got louder as the countdown got closer to one: "...three, Two, ONE! LIFTOFF!" We scanned the horizon, squinting intensely. My cameras were focused. I was prepared to blow up social media with our rocket photopallooza. We watched. We watched harder. Seth headed for the water before Gabe rassled him ashore despite his sharp protestations. And then we watched some more ... and then the cry from the dad behind us: "It exploded!" The boys looked at me. I shrugged. The boys went back to racing. Seth headed for the water.

I'm not going to lie. I was pretty bummed. I've never seen a rocket launch live, even from 70 miles away. The evening had taken an unexpected turn. It veered hard from your run-of-the-mill, ho-hum evening at the beach with five boys -- three, count them three, couples we encountered looked on in amazement at the collection of Sabos and remarked how full my hands were ... if only they knew -- into tantalizing excitement territory. I guess I shouldn't really be disappointed because just minutes earlier I had no idea I could have seen a rocket launch. But when the unexpected becomes even a glimmer of reality, only to literally crash to earth, there's still a sense of loss.

I've thought about this all day, actually. When the unexpected roars into your life, only to vanish seemingly as quickly. I won't go into details, but I feel a sense of personal loss on a completely different level. There was something unexpected that happened in our lives, only to be taken away. There's hurt, there's pain. It's not fun. I'm sad. I guess that's the best way to put it. Just sad. It's nights like these that I like to wander in to where our youngest is sleeping, in this case Seth. So peaceful. So beautiful. So perfect. Such a gift from God. I like to hear him breathe. I'll stand there and watch, listening to him breathe and for a little while everything is right in the world.

Subtle Differences Between Boys And Girls

It's frequently that I give Julie a hard time about her childhood. Her childhood comes up typically when her sons are doing things that are completely foreign to her, which can involve anything from belching and other bodily function contests, to new and inventive uses of small explosives. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating about the explosives, but it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibilities. I mean, now that the statute of limitations has passed I may have participated in some Fourth of July sparkler bomb manufacturing back in the day in Bend, Ore.

Julie, however, fondly recalls games with her three sisters of "Beauty Pageant" and all-night dance-a-thons and baking contests. Really? Fond memories of my friends and me entail menacing the rural Bend sagerat population with BB guns, golfing in the cemetery, peeing contests (length and duration of whizzes were compiled, with bonus points if you could write your name in the dirt) and games of tackle football that were really good when blood was drawn.  It's really entertaining when our older boys get together, which happens all too infrequently now that they are college age and older, and reminisce about the good old days. Typically the reminiscing involves petty thievery of household items and goods -- their favorite is when they pilfered the TV out of the downstairs living room in which a visiting auntie was sleeping and managed to haul it up to their bedroom to play video games all night -- boxing matches, small-time gambling over board games with the loser typically forced to strip buck nekkid and run around the outside of the house, terrorizing babysitters and various combinations thereof.

Now our teenage girls can laugh and giggle all night about their shenanigans as well. Craziness such as playing mermaid in the bathtub, their secret inside jokes that still make them cackle, all-night mani/pedi parties and when things got really out of hand marathon sessions of Pride and Prejudice movie watching. Somehow our girls have survived all that madness!!!

This all came to mind the last couple of times I visited Target and Wal-Mart with a bunch of my kids and hit the toy aisle. Take Olivia, my 6-year-old. She goes right to the doll section and eyes all the dollies and clothes and bling and accessories and mercy sakes can it be excruciating for her to try and settle on just one or two things with her birthday money. On the other hand there's Judah. He's 3 and you cannot imagine the sheer thrill he experienced when he came across the Despicable Me "Fart Gun." When he first pulled the trigger and that "gun" emitted the sound that can entertain little boys -- and big ones, too -- for literally hours on end the sound of his maniacal laugh filled the stores. That gun passed so much gas in the hands of Judah the earth's temperature rose measurably. I am thankful Julie didn't make those trips when Judah was blasting away. I'm sure she would have been horrified, even after two decades plus of raising boys. As for me? Well,  I admit it. I grabbed a gun and started pulling the trigger, the howls of laughter peeling forth.

I Know What Causes That

Somewhere along the line my wife Julie and I decided to really go for it. When we married our initial ambition was to have two kids. It seemed like a good number at the time and we figured we'd have two boys who would be best friends and do what boys do. You know, things like play Legos together, wrestle around some, take their shirts off for no apparent reason -- typically in a grocery store or at church -- and drop their britches in the front yard and pee as the neighbors drove by. The boys would wave, of course. I wouldn't want them to be unneighborly when they're peeing in the yard after all. Anyway, they would do all of the things that boys do that horrify their mothers, especially mothers like Julie who had no brothers and was uninitiated to the rather crude, aggressive, obnoxious and yet lovable ways of little boys.

But things got a little crazy in the Sabo house. Somehow, shortly after the arrival of our second son Julie got pregnant with a third son. I say somehow because the #2 Sabo, a lad named Taylor, was just 5 months old when the immaculate conception occurred -- while she was still nursing the wee boy no less! We'd been told she wouldn't get pregnant while nursing. Let me just say that is complete bunk. Nursing and pregnancy go hand in hand with Julie and I say that from experience.

Anyway, after the third Sabo, a chap we named Ethan, who followed the firstborn Brenton and Taylor, the thought occurred to us that if we had our way we would be Ethanless. Which I admit on some moonlit nights, when he pulled all-night, colic-induced fussing sessions, didn't sound so bad. But we loved Ethan in that crazy way that parents love their children. That thing where you hold your baby and sniff that sweet eau de baby and caress the softest, most beautiful skin you've ever felt and listen to those quick little breaths and there's peace and joy and love and unbridled affection all at once. There's nothing else like it in the world. Truly our children are gifts from God.

And so we thought three boys would be perfect. Until somehow Julie got pregnant with Claire. So we accepted Claire as God's blessing in our lives. Now things were really perfect with three boys and a little daddy's girl. Until along came Evie. It was at this point that we quit dabbling, somewhat ineffectively I might admit, in birth control and accepted God's desire for us to have kids. Lots of them. We took to heart the Biblical concept of "Go forth and multiply" and did our best to live it out.  So the pattern of Sabo child birthing continued pretty much unabated, not just for years mind you, but decades. Yes, decades. Julie has given birth to 14 little blessings, spanning four different decades. The '80s, '90s, '00s and '10s have all been graced by the arrival of little Sabos, who presently number 9 males and 5 females, ranging in age from 25 to 18 months.

Over the years, the number one comment from people who learn about our extraordinary number of offspring is, "Do you know what causes that?"  My answer is yes. Yes I know what causes that. I reckon we're pretty good at it.