WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- I'm Glad He Didn't Turn Out to be a Baseball Player

     As I entered the room, my starstruck eyes couldn't help but gaze from left to right in wonder. A chill ran up my spine as I tried to keep my cool and pretend I wasn't overwhelmed by the moment. I was in the presence of greatness. I was standing where famous people had stood and conversed. Then my host told me and my friends with me something I'll never forget: "The boss says you can have whatever you wish." The children receiving free candy in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory couldn't have been near as excited as we were at that moment.
     As you may know from reading my past columns, I have a bucket list of things I wish to accomplish before the curtain closes on my time on this earth. Some are still within my reach. Others have become impossible due to circumstances beyond my control. Such is the case this week. One of my goals was to shake hands with Billy Graham during my lifetime. That will not happen.
     I've read that Dr. Graham grew up loving baseball, and at one point decided he might like to make a living someday as a big league baseball player. Fortunately for the world, Billy wasn't all that good at baseball. So he moved on. And the rest is history.
     I grew up idolizing Dr. Graham. He had a way of presenting the Gospel like no other. He had a unifying effect not only on people, but also nations. He was humble. He could have been financially rich, but chose to live modestly. He was faithful and loyal to his wife Ruth, to the point that he made it his policy not to be alone with a female other than her.
     Dr. Graham would not like me calling him my idol. He didn't like idols. But to me, he wasn't the kind of idol you worship, but the kind you aspire to emulate as much as possible. He was kind, gentle, and patient. Most of all, he was bold and unashamed to share what he believed with anybody, anywhere.
     So when one of my friends my senior year in college invited a group of us on a weekend retreat to Montreat, North Carolina to stay at the home of an employee of Billy Graham's, I jumped at the opportunity. The employee was a family friend of my classmate and was a personal assistant to Billy and Ruth Graham.
     We stayed on the floor in sleeping bags a few doors down from the Graham residence. Billy and Ruth were out of town that weekend but at one point on Saturday, the assistant took us to Dr. Graham's huge personal library. And to our amazement, he told us Dr. Graham had said we could have any books we wanted, hoping that they would be a blessing to us and others with whom we would share their wisdom.
     I was speechless. Eventually I dug in and started thumbing through book after book, some written by Dr. Graham and others written by Christian writers Dr. Graham admired. I ended up with four books, all of which I have read cover to cover (some more than once) since. Count it all Joy by Grady Wilson, Turtle on a Fencepost by Alan Emery, Mr. Jones, Meet the Master by Peter Marshall, and a biography of Dr. Graham by John Pollock were my choices.
     Later that evening, some of Dr. Graham's personal friends came by to visit our group and talk with us. I hit it off with a leader in Dr. Graham's church everyone referred to as Deacon Jones. At one point I pulled him off to the side and began to ask him every question this college kid could think of concerning Christianity and faith. We stayed up deep into the night talking- mainly him talking and me listening. As a personal friend, he spent a lot of time with Dr. Graham and knew most of the viewpoints and opinions of the greatest evangelist who ever lived. He shared personal story after personal story about Dr. Graham and how there was no duplicity between his public image and his personal life. It was a life changing experience for me.I didn't shake Dr. Graham's hand, but through his friend I felt like I got a private glimpse into the heart and soul of one the men I admire most. I consider that evening as one of the most significant moments in my life as far as the development of my own personal beliefs.
     Billy Graham passed away last week. But as he told us in the past, don't believe for one minute that he's dead. He's more alive than ever. 2 Corinthians 5:8 says that for a Christian, to be apart from the body is to be present with the Lord. I can only imagine the celebration that occurred when he arrived at the pearly gates. Which is why there were no sad faces at the Billy Graham Library this past Monday when my wife and I went to pay our last respects to the greatest evangelist of all time. Did I call him that already? Well, it deserves to be said more than once. All the workers there were smiling and cordial. There were no hushed tones. Folks laughed out loud, shook each other's hands, and patted each other on the back. The mood was upbeat and joyous. 
     One of Dr. Graham's grandsons was there near Dr. Graham's closed casket, shaking hands and thanking folks like us for coming to visit. The casket we stood beside would be gazed upon by a former President just a few hours later. After whispering a short prayer, I stood next to the casket for a moment or two and realized I had come oh so close to fulfilling my dream of shaking the hand of this incredible human being. I may not be shaking his hand, I thought, but at least I am in his presence. That will do.
     Then it hit me. I wasn't in his presence. The body that lay in the casket a few feet away was not Dr. Graham. He was long gone- enjoying the streets of gold with his wife Ruth and all the saints who had gone before him. I smiled.
     Thank God Almighty that William Franklin Graham, Jr. was an average baseball player. He may not have made the major leagues, but he still managed to fill stadiums with people who came to see him do his thing. And the world is a better place as a result. Some glorious day in the future, if I am blessed to be in his presence in the hereafter, I will shake his hand and thank him for the books from his library. Then after that, maybe I'll teach him how to hit a curveball.

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- Could a Child Start a Revolution?

     It's been nearly twenty years ago, but I can picture the scene like it was yesterday. It was mid-morning and I was approaching the front entrance to Hodges Elementary School near Greenwood, South Carolina, where I was living at the time. I was there to visit with the principal about an upcoming event of some sort, the details of which evade me and are irrelevant. What is relevant is what happened as I neared the steps to the entrance to the front door of the school. The events of the next few moments stopped me dead in my tracks and in some ways, changed me forever.
     Recently we watched on our televisions as the terrible news of yet another mass murder at one of our public schools was reported to a horrified nation. Teachers and students died at the hand of a former student. Others may have survived physically, but will face a lifetime of fitful nights interrupted by traumatic memories and paralyzing nightmares.
     I don't have much to say about that beyond what's already been said. Our hearts are breaking and our prayers are going out to all those involved. I don't have political or moral solutions to inject into the conversation. But I do have a memory from an ordinary morning at an ordinary school in rural South Carolina that deserves to be shared with the world.
     I won't keep you in suspense. There was no tragedy that morning at Hodges Elementary. It was more like a miracle. Not the kind where somebody is saved from a burning fire when their chances of surviving were non-existent. Not the kind where someone who has been told they will never walk again sprints to the front of the pack on a marathon run to raise money for a cause. Those are great but this one was much less dramatic. But I believe it was just as much of a miracle as any other.
     As I neared the entrance door that morning, it popped open and a group of Kindergarten students from Mrs. Webber's class emerged in a single file line that would have made a Marine drill sergeant proud. They were headed for the activity bus parked nearby that would transport them on some sort of field trip so I decided to wait and let them pass before entering.

      I'm sure they had taught these children that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. But for no apparent reason at all, the little girl leader who was first in in line veered off to the right and with arms stretched wide open, reached out and hugged me before continuing on her path toward the bus. Following her lead, each of the little girls in line behind her veered right as well and embraced me before boarding. When the macho boys toward the end arrived, they changed course to come my way and slapped my hand with enthusiastic high-fives. Every hug and high-five was accompanied by a smile that only a kindergarten child can give you and you know it’s sincere.

     What just happened? I was merely a father of one of the schoolchildren, there to talk to the principal. Nobody special. A bystander. But Hannah the Hugger (my nickname for her since I had no clue what her real name was) didn't seem to care. I was a human being and that's all that mattered to her. I looked down at my skin. It was white. I looked in the window of the bus where Hannah's facial skin was visible. It was dark. (Not that it made any difference at all, but I want to give you context).

     Nearly overwhelmed by the moment, I stood for a while and waved Mrs. Webber's class goodbye as the old bus puffed black smoke and chugged its way out of the parking lot. Eventually I went about my business but on the ride home, I couldn't stop thinking about Hannah and the other children. The hugs had done wonders for me. Mrs. Webber's class consisted of various sorts of children of different races, yet none of them had hesitated to hug or high-five me. 

     I don't think adult children hug each other as much- at least not unconditionally like the children of Mrs. Webber's class did. Most adult children tend to size each other up first and make sure it is safe before we reach out to hug, especially if there is a variance of skin color involved. Adult children worry about sexual harassment lawsuits and the possibility of sending mixed messages before they give hugs. Adult children have to be aware of who might be watching before they can give or receive a hug to prevent others from drawing inaccurate conclusions. 

     Hannah didn't care about any of those issues when she went out of her way to open her arms and embrace me. She didn't count the costs. She didn't consider the color of my skin. She didn't worry that I might reject her when she pulled me near to her. In that moment, she started a revolution of sorts, because twenty more children behind her were freed from any prejudices and anxieties they might have had and were able to follow suit. 

     This column is not about race. It is not about politics. I am not trying to minimize sexual harassment. I am not advocating or opposing anything. I simply feel led to share a story of something that happened at a school that did not involve students and teachers getting shot. 

     I will never know Hannah's real name, but I know God used her to speak to me then, and to re-speak to me again this past week. I have experienced euphoric moments in my lifetime, but few of them left a lasting impression like the simplistic joy provided by this child many years ago. Hannah showed the purest form of love of all by reaching out and hugging me for no reason other than her desire to embrace another human being. 

     Hannah, wherever you are, I want you to know something. You are my hero. Every human being in the world could use a big hug from you like the one you gave me that day. I pray to God that you are continuing the revolution you began all those years ago at the Hodges Elementary front entrance. We need you. We also need people to follow your lead the way your classmates did that morning. And though Jesus did not return to Earth the moment you were hugging me, I'm sure He must have smiled and appreciated the opportunity to gaze upon an unspoiled, pure heart like yours- going about its daily business.


The spot where Hannah started a revolution

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- These Boots Are Made for Walking, Not Licking

     When I awoke that November morning, I had no idea that later in the day, I would have one of the strangest encounters I've experienced as a human being. My adventure did not involve another human being but rather a member, or members of the animal kingdom. Animals that were much larger than me.
     I've always felt kinda sorry for cows. They normally end up as burgers and steaks. And their ladies often provide milk for baby humans at much higher rates than they do for baby cows. They get rained on a lot, tipped over by teenage pranksters, and most of the boy cows get "fixed" at an early age. I didn't grow up on a farm, but my brother and I did help my dad "fix" a few of my uncle's male cows a couple of times when we were kids. I will spare you the details, but I will say this much: Ouch. 

     Cows have continued to show up in my life every once in a while, and not just on the dinner table. Take for example, the aforementioned November afternoon in 2016. While deer hunting"  in a friend's field, an entire herd of cows decided to pay me a visit as I sat on the ground against a tree. (As fate would have it, I forgot my climbing stand that day). They stood there looking at me for at least thirty minutes. Obviously unintimidated by the rifle propped up next to me, several cows approached within a few feet of me . But the biggest cow just stared at me from about ten feet away. I have been accused of fabricating stories for these columns at times. Realizing at the time that my fellow humans may be inclined not to believe such a tale, I took action. Despite keeping my eyes glued to the crowd surrounding me, I had the wherewithal to slowly pull out my phone and film the scene I am about to share with you.

     I named my "closest" cow friends Daisy, Rosey, Milli, and Vanilli. I thought they were all girls at first. But later, in an Aha! moment,  I realized Vanilli was a dude, not a dudette. Don't ask me how I figured it out, just trust me. He was the one who kept staring at me incessantly. And Vanilli didn't seem to like the nickname I had given him. So I decided to let him peer at me for as long as he wished. I'm pretty sure he was sizing me up for dinner.  

     I slowly and carefully texted my dad and asked him if a bull with chopped off horns was really all that dangerous. I figured Dad would say- "Only if he wants to eat you." Actually, Dad didn't return the text. I forgot he hardly ever did texting, only Mom does that. But when I didn't hear anything back, strangely I felt a sense of relief. If there was a problem, surely he would have warned me. (He got the text the next day and replied that bulls without their horns are indeed dangerous and I should be really careful). Oops.

     My right hand was placed on a loaded rifle but my human friend who owned the field had made me promise I wouldn't shoot any of his cows. (True story). I decided to remain seated on the ground, remaining  completely still while letting the cows dictate the pace. Within a few minutes Milli, Rosey, and Daisy had invaded my personal space to the point I could smell their bovine breath. And then it happened. Suddenly and without warning, Milli stuck out her gnarly heifer tongue and commenced to licking my left boot. Right on cue, Rosey followed suit by licking my rifle. Vanilli continued to stare a hole through me. Not to be outdone, Daisy licked my right boot. I was too amused to be anxious. Except for a slight uneasiness due to the length of the staring contest with Vanilli. 

     It all ended peacefully a few minutes later when the ladies decided that muddy boots and rifle scopes weren't all that tasty and they moved on. Vanilli stared a while longer but jumped higher than a Russian gymnast when a shot rang out nearby. Watching Vanilli run away made me realize I wouldn't have been able to outrun him had I had the urge. The shot was from my son a few hundred yards away, who had actually seen a deer instead of a herd of cows. 

     Whew! Safe once again. But I felt bad for the cows. They always end up getting slaughtered in the end.(Recall the whole burgers and steaks thing)- just like in the story of the Prodigal Son, which was shared in a sermon I heard at church recently. Poor old Fatted Calf. He didn't do anything wrong. The Prodigal Son was the one who ran away and got wrapped up in all that mischief and tomfoolery. Surely the wayward son deserved death more than a perfectly behaved cow whose only crimes were chomping on brush and weeds all day and not being properly potty trained.

     But Luke 15:20 tells us that the father ran and embraced his child, welcoming him back, even while knowing the sin and decadence his son had gotten himself involved in. And then comes the bad news for the stud cow in verse 23: the celebration would include an appearance by the Fatted Calf- as the main course. Not only was the son forgiven, he was treated to the finest delicacy his dad could produce. 

     I feel sorry for the cows, but I'm certainly glad to be one of those children who the Heavenly Father is willing to forgive and embrace, even when we have strayed from the good and decent path He has laid out for us.

     I don't know how it all works in Heaven, but I hope the Fatted Calf and my other cow friends are allowed a place AT the table instead of ON the table. Then maybe I would get the chance to thank a few of them for all the ice cream, cheeseburgers, and Rib Eyes. Perhaps I could find a giant boot made out of oats, corn, and barley for Daisy, Rosey, and Milli to lick. And of course, I would thank Vanilli for not eating me that day in the field. It will be me, the Prodigal Son, the lions, the lambs, and of course our cow buddies, all sitting down together to enjoy a grand feast. I can hardly wait.

 For the full youtube video, go to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJFNPegMaPg&t=124s

    

    

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- Super Glad to Share Victories With Others

     Like most other human beings on planet Earth, I tuned into the Super Bowl on Sunday night. I've always enjoyed the game itself, but to be honest, the commercials were a highlight for me in years past. Nowadays, not so much. The games have improved, often being settled in the last seconds and the advertisers have already used most of the really funny stuff in years past and are getting more and more desperate (tasteless?) to find new material to make people laugh out loud.
     And the food. Mamma Mia! As you know from some of my previous writings, I am a semi-disciplined health nut as it pertains to what I eat and drink. Items that don't make their way into my belly include alcohol (4 ounces of grape juice each day instead), sugar drinks, or milk that isn't fat free. I hardly ever eat cheeseburgers, hot dogs, bacon, sausage, fried chicken, or funnel cakes despite my love for those things. But I must admit that on Super Bowl Sunday, I toss all that out the window. I inhaled chili, cornbread, crackers, shrimp dip, and for good measure, threw down on some strawberry cheesecake for dessert, prepared by yours truly.
     The good thing about it was that I had one of my coaching friends to share all the fatty food and football frivolity with me. We used to have our kids with us but they've all grown up and found better options for Super Bowl Sunday so we were pretty much left to discuss all the ins, outs, and strategies all by ourselves. But that was okay. We had a blast. We had the food, the game, and each other.
     We noticed a lot more than just the commercials. After the game the coach for the victorious Eagles was quick to give praise and glory to the Lord, which we were glad to hear. And it was obvious as we watched the Eagles hug and embrace each other, that they were indeed a family. The quarterback kissed his small child over and over before and during the obligatory "I'm going to Disney World" commercial. Coaches and players alike hugged their wives and family members. Everyone was enjoying the moment and most of all, they were enjoying being together, kinda like me and my friend watching them.
     That whole scene made me flashback to an interview with a victorious Super Bowl coach several years back. The coach was Jimmy Johnson, who is now a respected commentator, and he was describing what it was like to be the winning head coach in a Super Bowl back during his Dallas Cowboy days.
     The interviewer asked him who he hung out with and celebrated with afterward. His reply shocked me. He hung out with nobody. After the locker room champagne showers, he made his way out to the parking lot where a limo was waiting for him. He got in and rode by himself back to the hotel, where he spent the rest of the evening enjoying his victory. . .  alone.
     He had won a Super Bowl, but in the process, the pursuit of that goal had cost him his marriage and his family at that time. And his obsession with winning football games had left him little time to establish friendships. So there he was, during perhaps his finest moment, all by himself.
     I'm a coach. I know what it's like to be driven to win, win, win. And we all want to hoist trophies in the air as champions. But may God have mercy on me if I ever sacrifice my marriage, my family, and my friendships in pursuit of an earthly goal. There's nothing wrong with the championships. They are fantastic. And the Eagles showed you can have your priorities right in life and still be able to scale the mountain to the top. But I truly feel sorry for the person (player, coach, fan, or whoever) who sells their proverbial soul in pursuit of a piece of hardware and fleeting bragging rights.
     Matthew 6:33 reminds us to "Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and all these things will be added unto you."  It doesn't say "Seek ye these things". I think we humans miss the boat on that sometimes. We seek the things and expect God to help us get those things, when the verse clearly says these things are by-products of seeking God first. And Matthew 6:19-20 advises us not to seek treasures on earth, but lay up treasures in Heaven. Maybe seeking Him first will lead to great championships in life, but it's more likely seeking Him will lead to small triumphs in every day life. Either way, I pray for myself and anybody reading this, that when we achieve a victory in life, no matter how large or small, there will be someone there with whom we can share a high five or a hug. And then we can head off to Disney World. Together.