clang a lang

This isn't a well flushed-out thought, so forgive me, but I've been thinking about this and I wanted to get it out on paper... er... screen.  I'll add it to my "work on later" list... anyway-
This past Sunday I had the privilege of cheering on some friends as they ran a mini-triathlon.  I had a great time cheering on my favorite people ever at the TC marathon last year, and I'm doing the same for my roommate this year, so I jumped at the opportunity to once again rah rah rah for people who are attempting a feat that I would never even dream about doing.  I respect their drive and determination.  BIG TIME! and it is really fun to see the look of relief and sheer elation when it's all over.  Honestly, they are genuinely fun experiences. 
Anyway, I was standing on the curb waiting for the first of our cheer recipients to pedal by when a guy my age and his two little kids settled next to me.  The kids were cute and he was obviously supporting his wife.  No big deal, right?  Well the thing is about cheering for running events is people sometimes bring noisemakers.  The family to my left brought cowbells.  Like 10 of them.   So every time someone rode in front of us,  the kids would frantically shake their cowbells and cheer wildly for the sweating stranger swiftly speedy by.  By the forty fifth minute, it had become almost nauseating.  I, a mature and seasoned cheerer, opted for the more civilized cheer of "Go!  good job ladies!  Keep on pedaling!"  (It was an all female race).  I would yell this out randomly as I was carrying on a conversation with the rest of our cheering section. The cowbell kids made enough noise for the bulk of us.
Really we were all annoyed with the constant cowbell clattering, so when their mom rode by and they moved on to cheer for her elsewhere we were all relieved.  But then something strange happened.  We all started talking and sharing stories and we kind of stopped cheering at all.  That's when a woman rode by and scolded us, "Hey!  Make some noise!!"  she clamored.  (Full disclosure, I could have sworn she said, "Hey, my Illinois!," but I was assured she wanted us to support her).  I was quickly reminded that I wasn't there for me and my conversation, rather I was there for the participants of this insane feat of physical strength and endurance.  So I cheered with all the gusto of Sparky Polaski.  It seems as if what had become annoying to us was sweet music to the strained ears of those actually exerting themselves. 
After our riders had rode by we made our way to the finish line which is so much fun.  People are going nuts and runners can't help but smile as there is a tunnel of people encouraging them on.  Well, as luck would have it the cowbellers were right next to us again.  This time it didn't really bother anyone because the whole crowed was going bananas.  After their mom had finished- she had an amazing time- she ran over to them and give them a big, undoubtedly moist, hug and she looked her kids in the eyes and said, "thank you so much for shaking those cowbells and making so much noise! I could hear them and they made me go faster and faster!" or something to that extent.  I was once again reminded that this cheering thing wasn't about me... it was about those swimming, biking, and running.  And, in that regard, it is obvious that the cowbells work.  There's a reason why corporations give them out at marathons, I suppose...
So, here are my thoughts on this.  I want to be an encourager.  I greatly admire people who, without even trying, are able to give that word of praise that just sends people over the moon.  Who doesn't love that feeling?  Its wonderful to be thought of and to know people who are thoughtful.  I was paid a supremely high compliment a couple of weeks ago when someone I didn't really know came up to me and said that even though she didn't know me she liked me because I was good at encouraging kids to do their best.  I don't know if that is true, per say, but I do indeed try to encourage.  Sometimes its all I can do, you know?  I can't run the marathon for you, but I can, and do, take real joy in cheering you on as you trot on by.  Its the least I can do.  And, when I remember that it's not about me, I think I do an OK job of cheering people on.  But the thing is I don't want to be a cowbeller.  I mean I don't want to be a cowbeller to the people that I'm trying to encourage.  What I'm trying to say is I don't want to be annoying.  It's a fine line, isn't it?  I want people to know that I care and that I'm in their corner and I want them to succeed and have all their dreams come true, but if all I do is stand there and clang the cowbell... well, that encouragement falls on ringing, annoyed ears.  Sometimes encouragement comes in rah rah rah's and sometimes it comes in a simple high five...  I guess I just hope and pray I can always give the right kind of cheerleading... is that an odd concern?
As I write this, I don't know why it is such a big deal to me... but it really is.  I guess I'm just very conscious of how I come off lately and I just don't want to annoy...  I want to give love and support the way the people need to be loved and supported... which is often easier said than done.
I want to be a Timothy, who was sent to the Thessalonians to encourage them.  I don't want to make this about me, but rather focus on those God has given me and lift them up as they race on by, you know?  I think that's a pretty fantastic goal.  So, Lord, I guess my prayer is may I be an encouraging cowbell ringer, not an annoying one.  May you use me to inspire the attitude of that mom to her kids rather than the attitude that I had toward them.  Yep, if one day people are sitting around drinking beers talking about the kind of guy I was... I think if I could choose what I'd like to be known for, it would be as an encourager.  That would be pretty great.  Now I need to get me a cowbell, baby!