Marshall Ramsey

When you hear the dreaded three words, “you have cancer,” your world stops. And then just as suddenly, it goes into complete chaos. You grasp around wildly, trying to get traction. You desperately try to make sense of why your own body trying to kill you. That’s when you look around for people who have walked your journey before you. They become your cancer heroes. They help you decide how you will live the rest of your life.

You can decide how you are going to fight the disease. Will you quietly lie down and die? Will you just quit and get in the fetal position? Will you get angry and turn inward?

Or will you fight it with great courage and inspire others.

That’s what long-time ESPN anchor Stuart Scott did. Scott, 49, died today after a tough seven-year battle with the disease — but not before inspiring millions with his grit, fight and attitude. He used his public platform to lift others. “You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and in the manner in which you live,” Scott said this summer while receiving the Jimmy V Perseverance Award at the ESPNs in July. (The award named for the NC State basketball coach who died of cancer in 1993.)

Scott is survived by his two daughters, Taelor, 19,and Sydni, 14 and a whole bunch of us who lost an inspiration. Scott would wear a t-shirt that read, “Everyday I fight” and he did. Now, it’s up to the rest of us live our lives to the fullest and carry that fight on for him.

Boo-yah!

At 7 a.m., my youngest burst into the room booming, “SANTA CAME!” From that moment, it was game on and within minutes,wrapping paper flew like leaves in a hurricane. Just looking around at the unwrapped presents, I’ve decided that no one in this house was THAT good this year — Our house looks like Santa ransacked the place. Bellies are full and dreams fulfilled — Amy did an amazing job making Christmas happen this year. The boys played. Amy enjoyed time with her parents. I spent over a hour putting stickers on a big plastic Millennium Falcon. Since then, I’ve been eating peanut butter fudge and reading the book Unbroken. Unbroken is Laura Hillenbrand’s excellent biography of Olympian and WW2 prisoner of war Louis Zamperini . It’s also the best story of forgiveness I’ve read since the New Testament. I read it last year but since the movie is out, I thought I’d reread it again.

I’m thankful I did.

Why? I struggle with forgiveness. I’m not sure if it is a genetic trait, but I have a real gift at holding grudge. And if you’ll listen long enough, I can make a strong case against several people who have hurt me or my family. I’ve grappled (at times unsuccessfully) with anger and wanting revenge. And lately, due to fatigue and some tough personal issues, I’ve felt that anger starting to boil up again. So reading about how Zamperini managed to let his demons after what he went through is the right message at the right time for me.

I love this quote from the book, “The paradox of vengefulness is that it makes men dependent upon those who have harmed them, believing that they release from pain will come only when they make their tormentors suffer.”

Wow. Of course, your tormentors don’t even care that you are angry. You’re eating yourself up while they live their lives. Like Mark Twain said, “Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”

Zamperini suffered PTSD after the war and dreamt nightly of killing one particularly savage prison guard named the Bird. He drank to escape his nightmares, but couldn’t. One night, he awoke to find himself choking his pregnant wife. Yet, after attending a Billy Graham crusade, Zamperini forgave those who trespassed against him. He never had another nightmare until the day he died this year at the age of 97.

As he used to say, “All things work together for the good.”

I’ve been showered with amazing gifts today. But probably the best one I received was from a man I’ll never meet. Louis Zamperini reminded me of the importance of letting my grudges go. And I can’t think of a better day of receiving a gift that precious than on Christmas day.

P.S. If you enjoyed Unbroken, I highly recommend Zamperini’s own book “Don’t Give Up, Don’t Give In.” It’s a book about what he’s learned in life — and one he completed two days before he passed from pneumonia.

I have a birthday coming up and I’ll admit, it’s one of the first ones where I feel, well, old. As my son would say, “It’s because you are old, dad.” I guess it is because time is flying so quickly now. I don’t know.

I had cancer at 33. I’ve always joked that was my mid-life crisis. It rocked my freaking world and somedays, still does. My career was shaken up in my early 40’s after being at near the top of my profession. I guess that was another mid-life crisis. Lord knows it caused a crisis. But as traditional mid-life crises go, I really haven’t had one. I’ve never had a desire for a red sports car and I am smart enough to realize that I out-kicked my coverage when I married Amy — and I know she’d kill me if I did anything too stupid. Honestly, I’m pretty happy with my life.

So this birthday, I’ll eat cake, open presents and soak in the love of my family. I’ll put up with old jokes. I’ll see my face aging in the mirror and pluck freaky gray hairs. My knees and shoulder will ache. But then I’ll go out and kick 30-year-old’s butts in the gym. I’ll wear jeans I could have worn when I was 16 and go run 10 miles. I’ll celebrate getting to do what I love and get paid for it. I’ll look at my life for what it is — a miracle. And I’ll smile.

Numbers on a calendar don’t mean squat to me. I’m as my football coach used to say, “Just glad to be here,” — even if I do feel little old.

Do you have people who doubt your abilities? Who discourage you? Who don’t believe?

Prove them wrong.

Do they make little comments that sting? Are they negative? Have they hurt you in some way?

Prove them wrong.

Take the pain and use it to light a fire in your gut. Use your doubters disbelief as motivation. Remember their discouragement as you encourage those around you. Be everything they never thought you could be. Take positive action in a negative world.

Because success is the best revenge.

Prove them wrong.

1. When you don’t feel like it.
2. When you are tired.
3. When your muscles are sore.
4. When you start back after recovering from an injury.
5. When it is dark.
6. When it is cold.
7. When it the bed is warm and the pillow is soft.
8. When you haven’t had enough sleep.
9. When you don’t think you’re in good enough shape.
10. When you realize that fitness isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon.

• The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (my proof — love the cartoon, hate the movie).
• Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer (TV Show)
• Frosty the Snowman 
• It’s A Wonderful Life
• Charlie Brown Christmas 
• A Christmas Story
• Christmas Vacation
• Elf
• Santa Claus is Coming to Town
• Miracle of 34th Street (Natalie Wood version)
• Die Hard (I really don’t think it is technically a Christmas movie, but hey it has a tree in it and takes place at Christmas)

I went looking for Christmas yesterday.
In all the hustle and bustle, stress, change and challenges, I haven’t been able to find it this year. So I went on a quest to find it.

I didn’t find it at the Jackson airport. But I did see the Lord’s handiwork somewhere over eastern Mississippi as the sun broke the horizon. The plane dipped into the clouds, making us feel like we were doing a low-level trench run through mountain peaks. The normally white puffy nimbus clouds were painted orange to celebrate a new day.

A day I knew would be emotional.

But Christmas wasn’t on my Delta flight. I enjoyed my delicious Delta cookie and prepared myself for the soulless joy that is Hartsfield-Jackson airport. Maybe Christmas would be there.

Nope. It wasn’t. But I did see one of the stars of one of my favorite shows. And he did play Jesus once in a movie — so that’s kind of close. I rented a car and headed out onto Atlanta’s interstates.

Trust me, there is no Christmas spirit on I-285.

I pulled up to my parent’s home — a house where they have lived nearly all my whole life. I looked in the backyard where I played as a child. I closed my eyes and all my childhood dogs came running to the fence to greet me. Then as soon as my eyes opened, their ghosts were gone.

I opened the backdoor and walked in — you never have to knock at your mama’s house, you know — and was greeted by my dad. That he knew me was a special gift. My mom came out, too. She looked pretty in her reddish sweater. I hugged them and tried to lock that memory into my mind. But I’m learning that memories aren’t to be taken for granted. They can be stolen as easily as the Grinch steals a Whoville Roast Beast.

We went to my dad’s doctor’s appointment and then out to eat. Christmas carols played quietly in the restaurant. But Christmas wasn’t there for me. My mind was filled with worry. My search continued.

The afternoon flew faster than the plane I needed to catch and I had to say goodbye to my parents. I’ll see them in a few days — but as days go by, I realize what a precious commodity time really is. “A few days” might as well be a lifetime. I watched them as I pulled away — I know that I’ll soon be watching my own children pull away. I’m not prepared for that. I’m not sure my parents ever have gotten used to it, too.

A friend from high school called and said a bunch of them had formed a men’s prayer group and they were wrapping gifts for needy kids. It was on my way to the airport, so I stopped in for 15-minutes and saw many of my childhood friends. They’ve all grown into good, good men. I don’t what it was about my high school, but we turned out OK.

I headed back south through downtown Atlanta and on to the airport. I dropped off my car, rushed through security and ate some delicious airport food. My flight was crammed tight and I watched quietly as dozens of people, each with their own stories to tell, entered my life for our shared flight. Our plane pushed back from the gate and its engines roared to life (I was in the back by the engines — so they REALLY roared). I suspended my search for Christmas as the plane once again defied gravity.

Somewhere over Alabama, I mentally replayed my day. First, I thought about the sunrise on the morning’s flight. Then I remembered my dad’s smile when I told him about my son’s scouting achievements. I marveled at the beauty of the skyscrapers in downtown Atlanta. My heart warmed from the memories of my childhood. I thought of my old friends not just preaching their faith but actually living it. I saw kind acts in an airport that is too busy for kindness. I felt love for my parents. I was grateful I survived Atlanta’s rush hour. I found good in a sea of bad.

And as the Delta flight touched down in Jackson, Mississippi, I felt something I have not felt in a long, long time.

I felt peace.

I had found Christmas after all.

Dear Santa,

You remember me. I was the kid who looked like Ralphie from The Christmas Story. I was a good kid — I had a few quirks, but who didn’t in the 1970’s. Yeah, yeah, that’s me. The one who asked for the Six-Million-Dollar Man action figure (with bionic eye), Stretch Armstrong, Evil Knievel action figure and black Huffy bike with a speedometer. Thanks — you delivered on all of them. Not sure what my folks told you, but I appreciate you making them all happen. I think we still have the bike in my parent’s basement. Anyway, you rock.

Well, it’s forty years later and I have a new wish list. I’d come sit on your knee, but I’m 215 lbs. and would snap your leg in half. Mrs. Claus wouldn’t be happy with me. And I don’t know if you have Obamacare at the North Pole. So I’m going to ask you right here, right now.

1. Please be my family members who are ill. They need a Christmas miracle or two. Thanks.

2. Be extra nice to my sisters. The last time we saw each other I wouldn’t have admitted it, but I have the best sisters in the world.

3. Help me make Christmas special for my three boys. I know. I want them to have great memories in forty years, too. And could you bring something really nice for my wife Amy. She’s the reason we’re even HAVING Christmas at my house. (I’ve been tuned out.) She has been REALLY good this year.

4. I know you’ve been busy, but things in Mississippi are kind of sad these days. Been some horrific crimes and some tragic deaths. Could you bring some cheer our way, too?

5. And please, please, bring me some Christmas spirit. I’m totally out.

I still believe,
Marshall

P.S. And could you bring me some nice exercise clothes?

Dear. Santa,
Thanks for your quick reply. I’m honored to be deputized as an honorary elf. And I agree, most of the stuff on my list is up to me to make happen. But I do appreciate the promise of the exercise clothes. Have a Merry Christmas and a safe flight.

I still believe,
Marshall

Banjo the great

It has been a couple of years since ol’ Banjo died but his spirit lives on. It lives when I get a note from a parent telling me how much their child loves my book Banjo’s Dream. It lives when I see a picture of a child reading it. It lives because I know he’s still hard at work doing what he did best — loving everyone around him. Sometimes kids ask me about his death and I say, “Banjo’s not here anymore but he’s right here,” and I point to my heart. Because that’s where he will forever live. Banjo comforted me when I was at a low point in my life. Like a good dog, he stood by me as I dusted myself off and started dreaming again. I love hearing kids say, “I’m going to dream like Banjo.” That’s who my old farty brown dog was. He was the little dog who could.

I don’t think it was a coincidence that Pip was born at the same exact moment Banjo died. She hasn’t filled the hole left in our hearts when Banjo left. No, she created her own spot. It would be easy to compare her to him — but I don’t because she’s definitely her own dog. I do think, however, she was sent at the exact moment she was needed. And in that, she has done her job well. She makes us laugh, yell, chase her and curse. She answers only to “treat” and steals socks. She has sucked up to my wife and sleeps pressed up against the back of her legs. Pip is an alpha dog who thinks SHE is in charge. And at times, she is. (I don’t call her “Queen Bossypants” for nothing.) As I get more comfortable with her personality, I’ll be able to write in her rather loud voice.

Pip the great

Never underestimate the healing power of a good dog. They listen when no one else does. They greet you like you’ve liberated Paris every time you come home. They love you when you’re unlovable. DOG spelled backwards is GOD. A good dog will remind you of that every single day.

Thank you Banjo and Pip for your spirit and for bringing joy into my family’s lives.

I don’t know about you, but yesterday’s headlines punched me in the gut.  I can’t remember a more depressing day — well, I can. 9/11 was horrible.  But this is the Christmas season. We should be feeling “joy to the world” and all that stuff. Yet, it seemed like everything was going wrong. And as a layer of poop icing on the cake, I have some really sad things to deal with family-wise.  By the time I got home, I was beaten down. I felt no joy.  But then, my wife got well-deserved award and recognition. My son played in his first band concert. We had a moment in the van as a family when we just laughed.  I can’t control all the crap going on the world.  But I guess I can look for the good where it is and hang onto it for dear life.