It was getting dark. I was getting cold. The mud caked between my face-mask
and helmet was starting to harden as the moisture inside it crystallized. We’d
worked long and hit hard. I’d spent most of the late afternoon at the bottom
of the pile and had some new cuts and bruises to show for my efforts. My practice
uniform was grass-stained and soaked. Two words kept rolling over in my head
. . . "hot shower."
This is when the coach was supposed to say something like, "Good work,
gentlemen. Let’s call it a night." But Big Al was just standing there
staring at us. And the longer he stared the more I regretted going out for football
that year.
It was a Wednesday night in mid-November, 1967. Annapolis High School. The
excitement of the football season had long since passsed. We only had a couple
of games left and we were all looking forward to the end. It happens. You start
out with a ton of enthusiasm. But months of smashing your head into the guy in
front of you has a way of wearing you down. And when the comfortable autumn afternoons
give way to the blistery front side of winter, it’s time to hang up the
spikes and call it a season. At least that’s what your body says. Unfortunately,
that’s not what the schedule said. It said we still had a couple of games
left—a couple of big games—and the coach wasn’t pleased with
the attitude that had been showing up at practice lately. We were all ready to
put on our game uniforms one more time, take the team picture for the yearbook,
and then get out of there. Apparently our attitude had gotten too obvious. Coach
Larrimore (a.k.a. Big Al) had responded by yelling at us a lot and taking delight
in running us into the ground.
Looking back on it, I can’t really blame him. When we signed up for
high school football, we knew how long the schedule went. We knew that towards
the end of the season our bodies would have wounds on top of wounds. And we all
knew that well before the last game the weather would take a turn for the worse.
But it didn’t look that bad from our airbrushed perspective at the start
of the season. Reality, in the mean time, had set in. And our response to that
reality had put us in the best position to get our tails kicked in these last
few games. Big Al was determined not to allow that to happen.
So this night he just stood there quietly while we huddled close together
trying to stay warm. And then he broke the silence. His words were delivered
with a caustic, almost mocking, tone. They were delivered for the moment. But
for me, they’ve rung in my head ever since. "You men seemed to have
forgotten what this game is all about, and in the process, you’ve gotten
soft. Let me refresh your memory. The object of the game of football is fairly
simple: we hand you the ball, and you fall forward." He paused for a long
time to let it sink in. For most of us, it didn’t sink into anything. We
hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. He continued, "The key word
here, gentlemen, is ‘fall.’ They’re going to get you. They’re
going to hit you hard. They’re going to rip your head off . . . Just make
sure you’re further down the field when they do that to you then where
we hand you the ball. Eventually, somebody falls in the end zone, and we get
some numbers up on the score board."
The immediate effect of the words on me became irrelevant. A couple days later
I cracked three ribs in practice and was out for the rest of the season. But
I revisited his speech on that dark, cold practice field many times since. Without
intending to, Coach Larrimore helped define one of the key parts of my overall
philosophy of life. His words have echoed in the background of so many fourth
quarters and two-minute warnings since. I’ve heard his reminder:
--while staring down at one of our newborn children who was wired to a life
line the first few weeks of her fragile life.
--on those numerous occasions when the bottom line in the checkbook was exhausted
before the pile of bills.
--as I listened to the eulogy of my mother, then over a decade later, of my
father.
--when I’ve gotten critical revues or stepped off of a platform after
delivering a mediocre message to a group of people who had come expecting more.
--at those lonely moments when I’ve let Darcy down, or have reminded
my kids that their dad has feet of clay.
The game of life is hard. The season is long. The opposition is up for the
challenge, and when you get tackled, the hurt goes deep. But it’s interesting
what happens when you plow forward in spite of it all and stretch for a couple
of yards…eventually, you do tumble into the end zone.
You may be facing a "third and long" situation in your marriage,
with your kids, or at the office. You may be hobbling badly and longing for the
showers. But until someone blows the final whistle, keep rumbling and tumbling
forward. You’ll be amazed what God’s got in store for the people
who don’t give up.
Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immoveable, always abounding
in the work of the Lord. Knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord. 1 Corinthians 15:58
On the Home Front with Darcy Kimmel
Three days after the tragic shootings at Columbine High School, Tim had a
friend of ours on his radio program from Littleton, Colorado. Sharon, who is
a therapist, recounted the outcome of another radio talk show that had opened
its phone lines for several hours the previous day to the students of Columbine.
In an effort to offer therapy via the airwaves, the kids, who had survived the
massacre, were invited to call in and talk about their feelings and fears about
the past and their hopes and wishes for the future.
Many of the comments were predictable given the lamentable circumstances,
but no one could have anticipated a plea that kept reoccurring as the students
candidly shared their longings and hopes. Student after student said if they
could have one wish it would be to have their Moms home when they burst through
the door at 3pm. They were tired of coming home to an empty house, to fend for
themselves practically and emotionally. They longed to be able to share their
day with their Moms, the person, who better than anyone else, could put their
day into perspective, kiss away the boo-boos, celebrate the victories, and comfort
the defeats.
Sharon relayed that as the talk show came to an end and the host was pointing
out this surprising theme, a woman called in to let the students know that the
adults in Littleton were listening and taking heart. She said, based on their
comments, she was going to work the next day and hand in her resignation. She
was convinced that she was needed at home with her four and six year olds.
This story broke my heart as I am sure it does yours. Somehow we need to be
doing the things that make a difference for eternity. Children make a difference
and God has entrusted them to us. Whether you are a parent, a grandparent, a
teacher, a neighbor, an aunt or uncle, don’t fail to be there for the children
that God has placed in your life. There is no better investment of our time and
effort here on earth or for eternity.
Here’s to loving and cherishing God’s great gifts.
