The
Greatest Lesson I ever learned
I grew up in
the shadow of a giant. My dad was a Georgia Bulldog fullback and evidently a
really good one. As a skinny little kid growing up, I had other giants like
Vince Dooley and Erk Russell that would slap me on the back and say something
like, “I hope you’re as good a ballplayer as your Dad was.” Grown men felt
compelled to tell me about how Ronnie Jenkins ran through them in practice and
they awoke in St. Mary’s hospital a couple of days later with nuns praying over
them.
Imagine a
tiny 9 year old sandlot football hero suiting up in full pads for the first
time. After the pants pads and the giant shoulder pads, then they capped me off
with a 27 pound helmet. I fell over. The fullback stood me back on my feet, “Alright
Bigboy,” that’s what he called me, “go get ‘em!” I hustled out onto the field,
sideways until I got my head straightened and joined the huddle. Another
overdressed kid handed me the ball and I zigged and zagged for a first down. As
they tackled me that first time my helmet mask filled with grass and dirt flew
into my mouth. I stood on shaky legs and examined myself. Nothing was broken, I
noticed that I had dirt and grass stains all over my previously clean uniform.
Then my teammates were shouting for joy and jumping all over me. This was
goooood stuff. I had found heaven on earth.
I scored a touchdown or two and then,
out of the blue, tragedy struck. I ran the ball right up their gut, right in
the middle for about a five yard gain. In the following huddle a kid yelled, “Hey!
Your bleeding bad.” Sure enough, I looked down and discovered that my left pants
leg was covered in blood. I realized that my left middle finger had a gash on
one side that was deep. The warrior was wounded. I squalled like a banshee. I
was crying so hard that I couldn’t find the sideline. Eventually me and my
mortal wound made it to the sideline and the big fullback was there waiting on
me. I distinctly remember that he had on his favorite blue pointer overalls. I
was sobbing uncontrollably as he examined the wound. He loved me and spoke
words of comfort as I began to settle down. He turned my finger and opened the
cut while I watched. “Hmmm, that is pretty deep.” He said. I realized
immediately that stitches were required. I had gotten stitches several times
already, so I knew about those. He took the middle finger of my left hand and
gently pressed it together with the one next to the wound to stop the bleeding.
With his right hand he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the biggest
red handkerchief that I had ever seen. He talked to me as he snugly bound the
fingers together with the red handkerchief. I remember wondering whether there
were any doctors still working because it was nearly dark. I was startled back
to reality from my thoughts of ambulances and lovely nurses when my hero
slapped my shoulder pads loudly and said, “Alright Bigboy, go get ’em!”
“Huh?!” was
all I could muster. I stood bewildered, as I looked down at my still
outstretched hand, now bedazzled with a giant red handkerchief tied in a large knot.
But I am injured, I thought to myself. I looked up at the giant in disbelief as
he stuffed some chewing tobacco into his jaw and gazed out onto the field at
the game, which to my utter disbelief, had continued even in this moment of tragedy.
I was just staring up at my dad, trying
to process all this, when he looked down at me and said, “Whatcha’ waitin’ on?”
He turned me towards the game, my hand still outstretched in front of me,
popped me on the but, “Go get ‘em!” And then he shoved me back across that
white line that separated the warriors from the cheerleaders.
It wasn’t long
before I realized that I could still function. I even scored another touchdown.
I did get stitches, but more importantly, I got a backbone. All because my Dad wouldn’t
let me lay down and quit. I learned that win or lose, hurt or not, you never stay
out of the game for long. I realized that there is a time to cry, but in the
end, you have to get back in the game.
I wonder how
Jesus felt as he cried out to the Father to take the cup from him. He already
knew what His fate was and He knew the pain he would have to suffer to save the
world from death in sin. In the garden of Gethsemane He laid on the ground and
poured out His soul to His Father as blood dripped from his nose. His friends
slept soundly as He lamented His fate, even though He had asked them to stay up
with Him this one night, they slept. I know that it is an unfair comparison,
but when I notice that little scar that remains on the side of my finger, I
think of how Jesus’ Dad must have told Him that He had to finish. Jesus’ didn’t
have friends cheering him on to touchdowns. Jesus had people mocking and
spitting on Him. They beat Him and tore the flesh from His body and made Him
carry His own cross as people mocked, not cheered Him. He did all that and more
for me ….. and you.
When this old
world hurts me and I want to quit and give up, I think about what Jesus went
through for me. People submit to the evil in the world and hurt each other either
to raise themselves or just because the evil in them gets joy from breaking
whatever is good and of God. Jesus warned us that this was the way the world
and the prince of it had treated Him and that we could probably expect the same
to some extent if we took up our cross and followed Him. I have trials and
sorrows but my heavenly Father loves and comforts me. I know that a promise
awaits me. I know that when I finish the race that my Father awaits with open
arms. I know that I will celebrate life as it was meant to be with my brothers
and sisters in Christ and the beautiful angels. I may be hurt, but I know that
I am already saved and that whatever problems arise, I already have the
solution. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Get back in
the game and love…. finish the race.
Kenton J
