2009 Friday Night Lights- Final Review
B's last Varsity football game was last night. The team was granted a consolation game against a team from a distant league in the state. The previous day had been very difficult and emotional for me. It was hard to say goodbye and find peace in all the memories and lack thereof from this season. There were two things I decided I needed to do to find peace and closure with my emotions. First, I needed to write a letter to B telling him how proud I was of him. Then, I needed to thank his wide receiver coach for standing by him, and continuing to teach him and find value in him as a teammate, despite his injury.
This is the letter I wrote to my son:
Dear B-
Football is a great sport- a rough one too. I wanted football to teach you lessons about life perhaps not learned quite the same by any other avenue.
I wanted you to measure your strengths and your weaknesses. I wanted you to learn how to make your weaknesses strong. I wanted you to experience what it is like to push yourself physically and mentally harder than you thought you could go- and then push a little further. I wanted you to gain respect: for yourself, your teammates, and your coaches. I hoped you would form friendships that would continue beyond the helmets and pads. Above all else, I wanted you to gain a greater identity of who you are as a son of God. I prayed that you would place your faith and trust in the Lord and yield to His will for you.
Son- you have made your dad and I very proud. My hope for your senior football season was for you to learn the lessons from your opportunities and experiences that would help prepare you for the rest of your life. In fact, I have learned from you. I have watched you face the many difficulties of this season with valiant faith, optimism, and inspiring energy.
I have missed not seeing you shine on the field with receptions, returns, and tackles as I know you could. But my heart rejoices as I watched you shine in the face of such great adversity.
My son, it has been a pleasure to watch you this season. I am grateful for the path you have laid for your brother and sister to walk through. We are blessed to have you in our family.
Now and forever, I’ll always be your biggest fan! I love you!
Mom
I placed the letter in his seat of the old 4-Runner, content with my attempt. Later in the day, after dropping off the final batches of brownies to the football locker room, my paths crossed for the first time all season the wide receiver coach. I introduced myself. He smiled and thanked me for the brownies. Trying my best to keep my emotions in check, I attempted to communicate my intense gratitude for him. For over five minutes I tried to find enough words to convey my true appreciation. When I finished as tears began to wet my eyes, he solemnly said, "Wow. Thank you. That made the whole season worth it."
I concluded, "You've touched his life for the better during a very difficult time. I don't know what I or we would have done without you."
We quietly walked our separate ways. A few steps later he turned and thanked me again.
Now I am at peace, and have found closure.
Farewell football fans across the states- for now.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
The End Before It Really Much Began
2009 Friday Night Lights – Week 9
I asked too hard of a question.
He agreed.
Yesterday marked the first playoff loser out game for the quest of the State 4A Football Champions. The competition is a 2.5 hour trip from home. We opted not to make the trip as B was not suiting up to play. At 5:00pm I keyed up the internet radio station to make sure we’d be able to listen to the play by play game coverage. I was content with the course before us. B would again be working with the coaching staff on the sidelines managing yardage gained per offensive play, we would sit in the comfort of home away from the elements, cheering on the team from afar.
As I got up from the computer, I tried to imagine seeing the team file one by one from the team bus arriving at the stadium.
With no intentions of doing so, my emotions ran free. I sobbed for him. I was strong and steady the day he dropped the pile of plates as he unloaded the dishwasher because his arm gave way with no strength. I calmed my expression as the doctor told him how serious his injury was and that football within the next year would be unlikely. This time, with no one around to be tough for, I cried. This has been hard for him, and yet he has tried to continue to do his part, to keep a strong faith in God. This has also been hard for me, to watch him have to be mature, and patient beyond his years. I was sad to see his senior year of football end before it really much began.
The team lost soundly to a top ranked team in the state.
We texted back and forth for about twenty minutes as he waited for his teammates to shower and board the bus for the long drive home. We chatted via text about details of the game, the joy he found in his new ‘job’, and then I asked “Are you ready for all of “this” to be over?”
There was no response.
Several minutes passed.
“You there?” I asked
“Yeah.” He texted back.
“Too hard of a question?”
“Way too hard.”
To be continued. . .
I asked too hard of a question.
He agreed.
Yesterday marked the first playoff loser out game for the quest of the State 4A Football Champions. The competition is a 2.5 hour trip from home. We opted not to make the trip as B was not suiting up to play. At 5:00pm I keyed up the internet radio station to make sure we’d be able to listen to the play by play game coverage. I was content with the course before us. B would again be working with the coaching staff on the sidelines managing yardage gained per offensive play, we would sit in the comfort of home away from the elements, cheering on the team from afar.
As I got up from the computer, I tried to imagine seeing the team file one by one from the team bus arriving at the stadium.
With no intentions of doing so, my emotions ran free. I sobbed for him. I was strong and steady the day he dropped the pile of plates as he unloaded the dishwasher because his arm gave way with no strength. I calmed my expression as the doctor told him how serious his injury was and that football within the next year would be unlikely. This time, with no one around to be tough for, I cried. This has been hard for him, and yet he has tried to continue to do his part, to keep a strong faith in God. This has also been hard for me, to watch him have to be mature, and patient beyond his years. I was sad to see his senior year of football end before it really much began.
The team lost soundly to a top ranked team in the state.
We texted back and forth for about twenty minutes as he waited for his teammates to shower and board the bus for the long drive home. We chatted via text about details of the game, the joy he found in his new ‘job’, and then I asked “Are you ready for all of “this” to be over?”
There was no response.
Several minutes passed.
“You there?” I asked
“Yeah.” He texted back.
“Too hard of a question?”
“Way too hard.”
To be continued. . .
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Maybe Sam Bradford Can Help
Now you are caught up with real time. The journey continues. . .
2009 Friday Night Lights- Week 8
Last Saturday, we spent the day chillin’-literally most of the entire day and evening. We were blessed to have a friend of the family visiting for the weekend, enabling us nothing but chillin’ time. At one point, it was just B and I watching the football games in the family room. We watched Oklahoma University Sam Bradford’s post game interview following yet another shoulder injury. We watched, rewound, and watched phrase by phrase again.
This is how it went:
ESPN Q: “How are you feeling right now? What’s going through your head?”
Bradford: “I had a lot of goals. It’s not how I had this season going. But these things have happened and I know God is doing this for a reason right now. I trust Him and know that He has a plan for me. I am just going to bounce back as well as I can.”
B agreed they share something.
This week he has been regaining his strength and stamina. He is not 100% post flu or cold or whatever he had, but he has improved. His shoulder has shown signs of small improvements too. Nevertheless, the last regular season game was played with #21 running the clipboard on the sidelines instead of sharp routes on the field.
The team led at the start of the fourth quarter against a good team 21-7. Unfortunately, the tables turned sharply and we lost 21-35. B arrived home late, said little, grabbed a peanut butter cookie, and headed for bed.
This afternoon I asked him how he felt about the whole thing. He wasn’t much into talking about it. I said, “You seem at peace. Are you?”
“I don’t know, I guess.” He responded.
“Really?” I asked as he didn’t sound very convincing in talk, but in action has been quiet, yet pleasant.
“I think I am good at acting that way. I don’t really know.” He muttered.
“Do you still think things are going good on the sidelines with growth and respect with your coaches?” I wondered as he hasn’t shared much this week with his interactions.
“I think they’ve written me off-nicely.” He confessed.
“How’s that?” I asked, knowing the answer, hoping for some opening.
“It sucks.” (He gave me nothing.)
He said he tried not to think about the stress of next year, not knowing his options. I assured him as he continued to pray and stay close to the Spirit, he would know his true course.
I am not sure I convinced him.
Maybe Sam Bradford can help.
B is off with some friends right now. I have taken the text of Bradford’s interview, copied it 20 times and put it all through his back pack.
To be continued. . .
2009 Friday Night Lights- Week 8
Last Saturday, we spent the day chillin’-literally most of the entire day and evening. We were blessed to have a friend of the family visiting for the weekend, enabling us nothing but chillin’ time. At one point, it was just B and I watching the football games in the family room. We watched Oklahoma University Sam Bradford’s post game interview following yet another shoulder injury. We watched, rewound, and watched phrase by phrase again.
This is how it went:
ESPN Q: “How are you feeling right now? What’s going through your head?”
Bradford: “I had a lot of goals. It’s not how I had this season going. But these things have happened and I know God is doing this for a reason right now. I trust Him and know that He has a plan for me. I am just going to bounce back as well as I can.”
B agreed they share something.
This week he has been regaining his strength and stamina. He is not 100% post flu or cold or whatever he had, but he has improved. His shoulder has shown signs of small improvements too. Nevertheless, the last regular season game was played with #21 running the clipboard on the sidelines instead of sharp routes on the field.
The team led at the start of the fourth quarter against a good team 21-7. Unfortunately, the tables turned sharply and we lost 21-35. B arrived home late, said little, grabbed a peanut butter cookie, and headed for bed.
This afternoon I asked him how he felt about the whole thing. He wasn’t much into talking about it. I said, “You seem at peace. Are you?”
“I don’t know, I guess.” He responded.
“Really?” I asked as he didn’t sound very convincing in talk, but in action has been quiet, yet pleasant.
“I think I am good at acting that way. I don’t really know.” He muttered.
“Do you still think things are going good on the sidelines with growth and respect with your coaches?” I wondered as he hasn’t shared much this week with his interactions.
“I think they’ve written me off-nicely.” He confessed.
“How’s that?” I asked, knowing the answer, hoping for some opening.
“It sucks.” (He gave me nothing.)
He said he tried not to think about the stress of next year, not knowing his options. I assured him as he continued to pray and stay close to the Spirit, he would know his true course.
I am not sure I convinced him.
Maybe Sam Bradford can help.
B is off with some friends right now. I have taken the text of Bradford’s interview, copied it 20 times and put it all through his back pack.
To be continued. . .
Saturday, October 24, 2009
The Team Ran From the Tunnel For the Last Time
Friday Night Lights- Week 7
Last Thursday, B was told by the doctor to wait at least two weeks before coming back in. He had much progression to do before even being considered to be cleared to play. Sunday, he was reminded to be mindful of the Lord’s will for him. We all felt very optimistic. Tuesday, he came home beaming-“I was able to throw really good at practice today. Not 30 yards, but a strong spiral! I also did a push-up without pain.” He asked me to go ahead and get him scheduled to see the doctor after all. Wednesday, he overheard some coaches talking about the game plan, and assumed B would be cleared to play. They were concerned he had missed so many practices with actually being on the field; they approached him and thoroughly quizzed him on coverage. He knew all the answers. Later that day in practice, he said he ran some of his best routes yet, and made some great one-handed catches. Things seemed to be lining up for a great finale for his home town field under Friday night lights.
Thursday morning we drove to the doctor. He needed to quickly return to school following his appointment as to not miss a math test, so he and I drove separately. The doctor told him he was making progress likened to a tortoise. He told him he wasn’t even cleared to play basketball, and likely wouldn’t get football clearance within the next year. B asked him if there were any exercises or stretches he could do to hurry the process of healing. The doctor told him “No, only time will heal this.” We left the doctor’s with few words. He drove away, saying just a “See ya.” I felt sad for him. I called H and told him I was a little worried. I’d have liked to have taken him to breakfast as has been our routine on Thursdays after his appointments, but he didn’t have time.
An hour later he was struck with the flu. He toughed it out at school, and crashed after practice and the spaghetti feed. Friday, he dragged himself to school long enough to talk to his coach and get permission to participate in senior night activities even if he went home sick. He came home and crashed on the couch. I gave him the best meds our cupboard had to offer, shut the blinds, and tucked him in on the couch. From time to time I would come in and check on him. At one point, I thought he must be awake as his “moans” were significant. I sat at the end of the couch for a moment to check to see if he had a fever. If so, it was mild, but I chose to linger for a moment, I watched him sleep and began to think about next year. This time next year, he will be at college. He would like to be playing football, but time will tell. If he gets sick, he will be alone. He will need to learn to take care of himself, get the rest he needs, and slow down, when his body indicates such. I noticed how his look hasn’t changed much since he was a baby, especially when he slept. I tried to take it all in, and then slip away without disturbing him.
A couple of batches of laundry later, he awoke. He said he saw the light peeking between the blinds. He thought it was Saturday morning. He wondered if his team had won their game. I informed him it was still Friday. I told him if he wanted to go to the game, he needed to leave now. He got dressed and left.
Later, we too arrived at the stadium and parked. As I stepped out of my car, the band was playing the school’s fight song. I smiled as I walked toward the stadium, seeing the busying of teams, fans, and staff. I let myself get momentarily lost in the glow of the lights, with the flag off to the side. I took a deep breath, and hurried to see the team as they finished warming up. B had asked and received special permission to wear his pads and full uniform for senior night pre-game pictures. He looked great,-tall and strong. We lined up, took our turn, being introduced to the crowd, and posed for our picture. He then went straight into the locker room to rejoin the underclassmen.
Moments later the team ran from the tunnel for the last time. Again, he trailed behind as he had left his pads and all but his jersey in the locker room. Again, he stood next to his quarterback during the National Anthem.
I wore ‘my’ jersey (his away jersey) with pride even though #21 never left the sidelines. Our team looked sharp from time to time, but trailed 21-14 at the final horn. I positioned myself to see him exit the field through the tunnel one last time. He looked up, his eyes looked sad. Mine filled with tears as I quickly filed down the stadium steps.
He said very little after he returned home. He took more meds, ate a tiny bit, and settled in on the couch. I asked him how he thought his season would end. He shrugged, and closed his eyes.
To be continued…
Last Thursday, B was told by the doctor to wait at least two weeks before coming back in. He had much progression to do before even being considered to be cleared to play. Sunday, he was reminded to be mindful of the Lord’s will for him. We all felt very optimistic. Tuesday, he came home beaming-“I was able to throw really good at practice today. Not 30 yards, but a strong spiral! I also did a push-up without pain.” He asked me to go ahead and get him scheduled to see the doctor after all. Wednesday, he overheard some coaches talking about the game plan, and assumed B would be cleared to play. They were concerned he had missed so many practices with actually being on the field; they approached him and thoroughly quizzed him on coverage. He knew all the answers. Later that day in practice, he said he ran some of his best routes yet, and made some great one-handed catches. Things seemed to be lining up for a great finale for his home town field under Friday night lights.
Thursday morning we drove to the doctor. He needed to quickly return to school following his appointment as to not miss a math test, so he and I drove separately. The doctor told him he was making progress likened to a tortoise. He told him he wasn’t even cleared to play basketball, and likely wouldn’t get football clearance within the next year. B asked him if there were any exercises or stretches he could do to hurry the process of healing. The doctor told him “No, only time will heal this.” We left the doctor’s with few words. He drove away, saying just a “See ya.” I felt sad for him. I called H and told him I was a little worried. I’d have liked to have taken him to breakfast as has been our routine on Thursdays after his appointments, but he didn’t have time.
An hour later he was struck with the flu. He toughed it out at school, and crashed after practice and the spaghetti feed. Friday, he dragged himself to school long enough to talk to his coach and get permission to participate in senior night activities even if he went home sick. He came home and crashed on the couch. I gave him the best meds our cupboard had to offer, shut the blinds, and tucked him in on the couch. From time to time I would come in and check on him. At one point, I thought he must be awake as his “moans” were significant. I sat at the end of the couch for a moment to check to see if he had a fever. If so, it was mild, but I chose to linger for a moment, I watched him sleep and began to think about next year. This time next year, he will be at college. He would like to be playing football, but time will tell. If he gets sick, he will be alone. He will need to learn to take care of himself, get the rest he needs, and slow down, when his body indicates such. I noticed how his look hasn’t changed much since he was a baby, especially when he slept. I tried to take it all in, and then slip away without disturbing him.
A couple of batches of laundry later, he awoke. He said he saw the light peeking between the blinds. He thought it was Saturday morning. He wondered if his team had won their game. I informed him it was still Friday. I told him if he wanted to go to the game, he needed to leave now. He got dressed and left.
Later, we too arrived at the stadium and parked. As I stepped out of my car, the band was playing the school’s fight song. I smiled as I walked toward the stadium, seeing the busying of teams, fans, and staff. I let myself get momentarily lost in the glow of the lights, with the flag off to the side. I took a deep breath, and hurried to see the team as they finished warming up. B had asked and received special permission to wear his pads and full uniform for senior night pre-game pictures. He looked great,-tall and strong. We lined up, took our turn, being introduced to the crowd, and posed for our picture. He then went straight into the locker room to rejoin the underclassmen.
Moments later the team ran from the tunnel for the last time. Again, he trailed behind as he had left his pads and all but his jersey in the locker room. Again, he stood next to his quarterback during the National Anthem.
I wore ‘my’ jersey (his away jersey) with pride even though #21 never left the sidelines. Our team looked sharp from time to time, but trailed 21-14 at the final horn. I positioned myself to see him exit the field through the tunnel one last time. He looked up, his eyes looked sad. Mine filled with tears as I quickly filed down the stadium steps.
He said very little after he returned home. He took more meds, ate a tiny bit, and settled in on the couch. I asked him how he thought his season would end. He shrugged, and closed his eyes.
To be continued…
Friday, October 23, 2009
In A Different Way Than Those Measured By Statistics
2009 Friday Night Lights- Week 6
Two weeks ago Friday afternoon I picked up the proofs for B’s senior pictures from the photographer. We had met at the school where he had been substituting. As I walked back to my car, I couldn’t contain my smile. We were a few hours away from leaving for “Friday Night Lights”. As I neared my vehicle, I recognized the truck adjacent to mine. It belonged to the head football coach. I said a quick hello, as I noticed he was waiting for his daughter. We exchanged cordial “how are yous?” I couldn’t minimize the skip in my step or the energy in my voice. “Just picked up B’s senior pictures.” I said. “Your jersey looks good on him!” (Referring to the pictures where he was wearing his #21 jersey.)
“It’s good you’re enjoying this time.” He responded with a grin. He then sombered his tone and said- “It’s fleeting.”
Several hours later, B injured his shoulder on the first of several blunt hits over that game and the next.
That was several weeks ago, the season is nearly over. Truly this time is fleeting, as are opportunities.
I have thought several times about the saying “Everything happens for a reason.” I don’t agree. But I do believe you can find reason in everything.
On the way home from the doctor this week, I asked B his thoughts regarding his injury. He said he thought it would eventually heal completely, but for now, he said he was learning a lot, and gaining the respect of his teammates and coaches in a different way than those measured by statistics. He felt that this was all part of the process of what he needed to learn and experience from football this year. He talked about how much he has grown in confidence taking on a leadership role in practice. Twice his fellow teammates have told their position coach that he wasn’t needed because C-- was taking over. It was favored well. Thursday, B commented on how sometimes when he is standing there on the sidelines of practice teammates will come over and start asking advice about girls, family, etc. He laughs as he wonders how he became viewed as the expert.
Last night, under clear cold skies, he ran onto the field following his teammates. He conservatively joined the huddle after the last kid who piled on had regained his feet. He stood next to his quarterback during the National Anthem. He high- fived teammates just before the kickoff. Then, just before our first offensive series, he sprinted out onto the field, to place the game ball at the line of scrimmage. There was notable pleasure in the opportunity. Our team secured another victory, albeit against what is joked about as being the JV team of the league. The final two weeks of the regular season are against top ranked teams.
This morning B said- I’m ready for “this part” to be over, - referring to his injury. I think he found reason to learn and grow, but is praying for a speed up in his recovery.
I pray too, but in the meantime, I try to appreciate these fleeting moments.To be continued. . .
Two weeks ago Friday afternoon I picked up the proofs for B’s senior pictures from the photographer. We had met at the school where he had been substituting. As I walked back to my car, I couldn’t contain my smile. We were a few hours away from leaving for “Friday Night Lights”. As I neared my vehicle, I recognized the truck adjacent to mine. It belonged to the head football coach. I said a quick hello, as I noticed he was waiting for his daughter. We exchanged cordial “how are yous?” I couldn’t minimize the skip in my step or the energy in my voice. “Just picked up B’s senior pictures.” I said. “Your jersey looks good on him!” (Referring to the pictures where he was wearing his #21 jersey.)
“It’s good you’re enjoying this time.” He responded with a grin. He then sombered his tone and said- “It’s fleeting.”
Several hours later, B injured his shoulder on the first of several blunt hits over that game and the next.
That was several weeks ago, the season is nearly over. Truly this time is fleeting, as are opportunities.
I have thought several times about the saying “Everything happens for a reason.” I don’t agree. But I do believe you can find reason in everything.
On the way home from the doctor this week, I asked B his thoughts regarding his injury. He said he thought it would eventually heal completely, but for now, he said he was learning a lot, and gaining the respect of his teammates and coaches in a different way than those measured by statistics. He felt that this was all part of the process of what he needed to learn and experience from football this year. He talked about how much he has grown in confidence taking on a leadership role in practice. Twice his fellow teammates have told their position coach that he wasn’t needed because C-- was taking over. It was favored well. Thursday, B commented on how sometimes when he is standing there on the sidelines of practice teammates will come over and start asking advice about girls, family, etc. He laughs as he wonders how he became viewed as the expert.
Last night, under clear cold skies, he ran onto the field following his teammates. He conservatively joined the huddle after the last kid who piled on had regained his feet. He stood next to his quarterback during the National Anthem. He high- fived teammates just before the kickoff. Then, just before our first offensive series, he sprinted out onto the field, to place the game ball at the line of scrimmage. There was notable pleasure in the opportunity. Our team secured another victory, albeit against what is joked about as being the JV team of the league. The final two weeks of the regular season are against top ranked teams.
This morning B said- I’m ready for “this part” to be over, - referring to his injury. I think he found reason to learn and grow, but is praying for a speed up in his recovery.
I pray too, but in the meantime, I try to appreciate these fleeting moments.To be continued. . .
Thursday, October 22, 2009
I Felt Bad That I Couldn't Be His Hero
2009 Friday Night Lights—Week 5
Last night marked the game of the inner city rivalry. It’s never much of a competition. After all, our school is much larger. Nevertheless, for the fun of it, they call it a rivalry. With our record of 1-3, it looked to be a better competition than usual. In fact this game was picked by the local paper to be the upset of the season. There was some hype: the pep band led a parade of the team followed by the mass of students into the stadium. I looked for B. He was easy to spot- only two kids are injured and thus just wearing their jersey with street clothes. He was the one with a high and tight haircut and black sweats. (The kid hasn’t worn jeans since he was 3.) He stood next to the coaches during the warm up sprints, and then was very busy on the sidelines managing the defensive play clip board, and always holding a football with his other hand. He looked somewhat content with the course before him.
I sat in the stands watching him walk out to take his usual spot next to his quarterback lined up for the Nation Anthem. As my eyes fixated in the lights by the flag, my thoughts turned to an experience I had when I was 5 years old. It was just a few weeks before Kindergarten when my dad told us the empty house next had sold and we would be getting new neighbors. To my sheer delight he told us that they had 2 daughters, one of which was my age. My new neighbor Jenea quickly became my best friend. Her dad was the new principal at the high school which was adjacent to the elementary school we would soon attend. As Jenea and I readied for Kindergarten our mothers wanted us to have no doubts in the course we were to walk to and from school. They walked it with us many times, making sure we knew the way. Several weeks into Kindergarten, the library was introduced to us. Jenea and I quickly found a book to borrow and take home. The librarian reminded us to take special care of these books and return them next week in exchange for another. We agreed. The next week, Jenea and I met out in front of our homes on the sidewalk. Jenea was so excited to tell me that her dad told her of another way we could go to school. I tucked my book beneath one arm and clasped my hand in my friend’s as we skipped down the sidewalk on our NEW way to school. At one point conflict arose as the sidewalk’s concrete was broken. It was marked off and we could not pass. We noted our options and justified that since no cars were coming and it would be a short walk into the street, it was okay. As I stepped off the curb, I tripped. Immediate fear overtook me. My fall caused me to drop my library book which fell into the water run-off grate beneath the street. I cried. I cried for my disobedience in going the wrong way to school, walking in the street, and failing to take good care of my library book. Jenea insisted we should continue on to school and that her dad would take care of everything. I didn’t listen. Instead, I broke another rule. I turned around the other direction and ran home as fast as I could sobbing the entire way. Unexpectedly my dad was still home. I poured my regretful heart out to him. I recounted the tragedy as it had unfolded. My dad made a phone call, then took my small hand securely within his. I did not understand what we were going to do, but I knew I could trust him and did so by following him. A man from the city met us there. He removed the large bolts and the grate. My dad borrowed his ladder and retrieved my library book. Then without a word but of gratitude to the city worker, he walked with me to school.
My dad was my hero that day. He made all the fear and sadness go away.
As the team took the field, I felt sad for B, that he couldn’t be out there with him- that he couldn’t finally get to play a position he had worked so hard to be good at. I felt bad that I couldn’t be his hero and make all the hard parts about this go away. Then I thought about how this trial is one more part of the refiner’s fire that my son has the opportunity to work through. I thought about how much stronger he could be if he chooses to remain faithful during this adversity.
I am okay with not being able to rescue him. After all, he is no longer five. I pray the Lord will be generous in compensating him, and that we can all be patient with the Lord’s time schedule and His perfect wisdom.
Our team won, 24-14. At the end the students encircled the team on the field and they all sang the fight song with much pride and spirit. Hopefully, he will remember this someday—all of it. . .
To be continued. . .
Last night marked the game of the inner city rivalry. It’s never much of a competition. After all, our school is much larger. Nevertheless, for the fun of it, they call it a rivalry. With our record of 1-3, it looked to be a better competition than usual. In fact this game was picked by the local paper to be the upset of the season. There was some hype: the pep band led a parade of the team followed by the mass of students into the stadium. I looked for B. He was easy to spot- only two kids are injured and thus just wearing their jersey with street clothes. He was the one with a high and tight haircut and black sweats. (The kid hasn’t worn jeans since he was 3.) He stood next to the coaches during the warm up sprints, and then was very busy on the sidelines managing the defensive play clip board, and always holding a football with his other hand. He looked somewhat content with the course before him.
I sat in the stands watching him walk out to take his usual spot next to his quarterback lined up for the Nation Anthem. As my eyes fixated in the lights by the flag, my thoughts turned to an experience I had when I was 5 years old. It was just a few weeks before Kindergarten when my dad told us the empty house next had sold and we would be getting new neighbors. To my sheer delight he told us that they had 2 daughters, one of which was my age. My new neighbor Jenea quickly became my best friend. Her dad was the new principal at the high school which was adjacent to the elementary school we would soon attend. As Jenea and I readied for Kindergarten our mothers wanted us to have no doubts in the course we were to walk to and from school. They walked it with us many times, making sure we knew the way. Several weeks into Kindergarten, the library was introduced to us. Jenea and I quickly found a book to borrow and take home. The librarian reminded us to take special care of these books and return them next week in exchange for another. We agreed. The next week, Jenea and I met out in front of our homes on the sidewalk. Jenea was so excited to tell me that her dad told her of another way we could go to school. I tucked my book beneath one arm and clasped my hand in my friend’s as we skipped down the sidewalk on our NEW way to school. At one point conflict arose as the sidewalk’s concrete was broken. It was marked off and we could not pass. We noted our options and justified that since no cars were coming and it would be a short walk into the street, it was okay. As I stepped off the curb, I tripped. Immediate fear overtook me. My fall caused me to drop my library book which fell into the water run-off grate beneath the street. I cried. I cried for my disobedience in going the wrong way to school, walking in the street, and failing to take good care of my library book. Jenea insisted we should continue on to school and that her dad would take care of everything. I didn’t listen. Instead, I broke another rule. I turned around the other direction and ran home as fast as I could sobbing the entire way. Unexpectedly my dad was still home. I poured my regretful heart out to him. I recounted the tragedy as it had unfolded. My dad made a phone call, then took my small hand securely within his. I did not understand what we were going to do, but I knew I could trust him and did so by following him. A man from the city met us there. He removed the large bolts and the grate. My dad borrowed his ladder and retrieved my library book. Then without a word but of gratitude to the city worker, he walked with me to school.
My dad was my hero that day. He made all the fear and sadness go away.
As the team took the field, I felt sad for B, that he couldn’t be out there with him- that he couldn’t finally get to play a position he had worked so hard to be good at. I felt bad that I couldn’t be his hero and make all the hard parts about this go away. Then I thought about how this trial is one more part of the refiner’s fire that my son has the opportunity to work through. I thought about how much stronger he could be if he chooses to remain faithful during this adversity.
I am okay with not being able to rescue him. After all, he is no longer five. I pray the Lord will be generous in compensating him, and that we can all be patient with the Lord’s time schedule and His perfect wisdom.
Our team won, 24-14. At the end the students encircled the team on the field and they all sang the fight song with much pride and spirit. Hopefully, he will remember this someday—all of it. . .
To be continued. . .
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
I Said A Silent Prayer Begging For A Happy Ending
2009 Friday Night Lights- Week 4
B has been an absolute delightful child lately. We have talked about how you have to do your part on the field as well as off the field as a son of God and a respectful family member in order for the Lord to work miracles through you. I know he is hoping for the opportunity to represent the Lord in miracle form.-- (Who wouldn’t?) I am seeing him try very hard to do his “part”.
Tonight is Homecoming- bringing with it- a magical anticipation. After all, there are princesses in the crowd. Our competition this evening brags itself as the number one offense/team in the league. This may account for all of the juggling on defense in practice this week, as well as the coach’s frustration of B’s shoulder injury (an apparent stinger from last week’s game).
I arrived at the stadium a half an hour early to claim seats for the friends and family we were expecting. I laid out my blankets, jackets and stadium cushion to claim some space. Then I heard “Mrs. C! Mrs. C!” It was an assistant coach calling me from just outside the tunnel where the team had just retreated to after their warm up. He told me B had reinjured his shoulder in warm-ups, but had clearance to play. He was in pain, and no staff is authorized to give him meds, only a parent. So it was a call for some Advil. Refilling my travel tube had been on my list of things to do, but never made it to the top. I scanned the sparse crowd for someone I knew… nothing, or rather no one. I sprinted up the hill toward my car, hoping to find someone I knew along the way. I was rescued by a vice-principal at our school-who has always looked out for us. I sprinted back down, gave the Advil to the trainer, and sat in my seat. I was still alone at this point. H was picking up an elderly gentleman from our church who wanted to come to the game. No one else had arrived. My eyes filled with tears. Other people’s children were supposed to get hurt—not mine!
I said a silent prayer as I watched him line up with his team during the National Anthem, begging for a happy ending. Early in the second quarter, he received a pass well, and then the QB looked for him again on the next play. That pass was almost intercepted. The next play, we attempted a run and while blocking, the shoulder gave again. Our team shuffled into the locker room at half time down 14 to nothing.
We endured the half-time band show which is almost as bad as our defense. --I can say that tonight because B didn’t play! Then the princesses paraded around until we were put out of our misery by the team sprinting through the tunnel back out onto the field. I watched number by number come out, ready to cheer on #21. I was utterly devastated as he walked out with his pads off, alongside the other injured players, a big bag of ice strapped to his shoulder.
I sat emotionless in my seat the remainder of the half.
After the game, I met with the trainer, team doctor, and physical therapist. All agree they think and hope it is probably just a stinger, but since it’s the second one in a week, B now has to have x-rays and an MRI prior to being cleared to continue to play. I felt so bad that this was happening to him his senior year. The offense is weak. The safety coach is psycho, and now he is hurt. Really?!!?
I waited for him to emerge from the locker room, making sure he was okay to drive. He was almost the last one out, he looked bummed. As I saw him walking toward me, I noticed his hands were full. In one hand he held his car keys and copies of the previous games (a birthday present for Grandpa—shhh. Don’t tell) In the other hand, he clutched his scriptures. He didn’t explain why he had them, and I didn’t ask. But I’m beginning to think the happy ending I prayed for may not be measured in touchdown passes. . .
To be continued. . .
B has been an absolute delightful child lately. We have talked about how you have to do your part on the field as well as off the field as a son of God and a respectful family member in order for the Lord to work miracles through you. I know he is hoping for the opportunity to represent the Lord in miracle form.-- (Who wouldn’t?) I am seeing him try very hard to do his “part”.
Tonight is Homecoming- bringing with it- a magical anticipation. After all, there are princesses in the crowd. Our competition this evening brags itself as the number one offense/team in the league. This may account for all of the juggling on defense in practice this week, as well as the coach’s frustration of B’s shoulder injury (an apparent stinger from last week’s game).
I arrived at the stadium a half an hour early to claim seats for the friends and family we were expecting. I laid out my blankets, jackets and stadium cushion to claim some space. Then I heard “Mrs. C! Mrs. C!” It was an assistant coach calling me from just outside the tunnel where the team had just retreated to after their warm up. He told me B had reinjured his shoulder in warm-ups, but had clearance to play. He was in pain, and no staff is authorized to give him meds, only a parent. So it was a call for some Advil. Refilling my travel tube had been on my list of things to do, but never made it to the top. I scanned the sparse crowd for someone I knew… nothing, or rather no one. I sprinted up the hill toward my car, hoping to find someone I knew along the way. I was rescued by a vice-principal at our school-who has always looked out for us. I sprinted back down, gave the Advil to the trainer, and sat in my seat. I was still alone at this point. H was picking up an elderly gentleman from our church who wanted to come to the game. No one else had arrived. My eyes filled with tears. Other people’s children were supposed to get hurt—not mine!
I said a silent prayer as I watched him line up with his team during the National Anthem, begging for a happy ending. Early in the second quarter, he received a pass well, and then the QB looked for him again on the next play. That pass was almost intercepted. The next play, we attempted a run and while blocking, the shoulder gave again. Our team shuffled into the locker room at half time down 14 to nothing.
We endured the half-time band show which is almost as bad as our defense. --I can say that tonight because B didn’t play! Then the princesses paraded around until we were put out of our misery by the team sprinting through the tunnel back out onto the field. I watched number by number come out, ready to cheer on #21. I was utterly devastated as he walked out with his pads off, alongside the other injured players, a big bag of ice strapped to his shoulder.
I sat emotionless in my seat the remainder of the half.
After the game, I met with the trainer, team doctor, and physical therapist. All agree they think and hope it is probably just a stinger, but since it’s the second one in a week, B now has to have x-rays and an MRI prior to being cleared to continue to play. I felt so bad that this was happening to him his senior year. The offense is weak. The safety coach is psycho, and now he is hurt. Really?!!?
I waited for him to emerge from the locker room, making sure he was okay to drive. He was almost the last one out, he looked bummed. As I saw him walking toward me, I noticed his hands were full. In one hand he held his car keys and copies of the previous games (a birthday present for Grandpa—shhh. Don’t tell) In the other hand, he clutched his scriptures. He didn’t explain why he had them, and I didn’t ask. But I’m beginning to think the happy ending I prayed for may not be measured in touchdown passes. . .
To be continued. . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
