WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: Where You Go, I go

     Normally my columns are light-hearted with occasional doses of attempted humor, but when that is not the case, I try to warn you in advance. Such is the case this week, but I do hope you will continue to read because this one is special. I won't keep you in suspense. I lost somebody dear to me a few days ago. And the mixture of remembering the good times and the realization that he's gone has driven me to the heights and depths of emotion since then. 
     As usual, some background may help. I am a college baseball coach by profession. But more importantly, I am a human being who values and treasures relationships in my life. The dramatic victories and the gut wrenching defeats a coach inevitably endures if he coaches long enough pale in comparison to the memories of particular teams, players, and their unique personalities that remain within a coach's heart and soul forever.
     I have coached hundreds upon hundreds of players and they are all special to me in some unique way. But to be honest, some of them occupy an extra special place in my heart for various reasons. 
     Jeremy Cox was one of those. He was a lightly recruited left handed pitcher out of high school back in 1995, mainly because he was skinny, undersized, and didn't have much on his fastball. (Sorry, I'm just being honest). But as a junior college coach at that time, I saw something in him that I wanted on my team. He had a nasty curveball and he threw strikes. But most of all, he had a heart the size of a ripe watermelon. 
     Jeremy was moderately successful for most of his freshman season at Brevard Junior College, but came on tremendously strong toward the end, winning one of the biggest games of the year for our team in the Regional tournament. So when his sophomore season began, I figured there would be a number of four year schools ready to make him scholarship offers. 
     But that didn't happen right away. And halfway through his sophomore year, I got hired to be the first ever baseball coach and start a program at Lander University, a four year Division 2 school in South Carolina. I asked Jeremy if he would be interested in coming with me. I told him all we had at that time was a run down stadium that needed lots of work. There were no teammates yet, no jerseys, no equipment, no tradition, and no players signed for the following year at that point. And all this at a school he had never heard of.
     Jeremy looked at me and said, "Coach, if you're going there, I want to go with you." This kid (and three of his teammates) trusted me enough to dive into the great unknown and accompany me on a journey that would eventually change our lives forever. 
     Jeremy Cox instantly became one of my top pitchers at Lander, taking the league by storm when he tossed a complete game win in his first start, allowing only one run against the #8 team in the nation. In his two remaining years of eligibility, he went on to become one of the top pitchers in program history and is still in the record books twenty years later. Jeremy was one of the main reasons our team cracked the national rankings in our first two years as a program.
     I found out a couple years ago that Jeremy was battling cancer so I gave him a call. He was jovial and upbeat, the same old Jeremy I knew and loved. We stayed in touch through texts and calls. He continued to keep his season of humor, telling me at one point: "Coach, they've increased my radiation to 10 times the normal level, so needless to say, because of the radiation, lights get a little brighter when I walk by." And he would always finish by saying or texting: "God is good, and He is in control."
     I, along with a group of Jeremy's former teammates and coaches, visited Jeremy in his home recently. He was in pain and couldn't really move or talk, but he did manage to say "Thanks, Coach" after I held his hand, kissed him on the head, and told him I was proud of the man he had become. 
     I didn't know what to pray when I was finally alone in my truck later that day. At one point I cried out to God and begged Him to take Jeremy into His presence and end his pain. Then I felt guilty requesting that, as 40-year-old Jeremy would be leaving behind a lovely wife and two beautiful sons, ages 9 and 5. On the ride home I was alternately heartbroken and thankful. I was sad and emotional at times, then the next moment I was laughing out loud at the recollection of a "Jeremy moment". This "kid" was special to me, and now he was dying. 
     I didn't break down two days later when I received a text from Jeremy's wife informing me that Jeremy had gone to be with Jesus a few moments earlier. I knew he was in a better place. I knew he was celebrating with angels. But it hit me hard just after that when I made the phone call to inform another one of my former players- one of the others who had made the journey with me from one college to the next, trusting that I would take care of them. As soon as I got a chance that day, I tightly hugged the only remaining of three sons who still live at home with me and mom. "He's touching me again!" he yelled to his mom. I didn't loosen my grip.
     Most coaches will tell you that when you coach a player, you become his coach for life. You feel indebted to that player forever. You feel responsible for that person's well being long after his playing days are over. You want to protect that child forever, even when he is a full grown 40-year-old adult with kids of his own. And I was unable to protect Jeremy from cancer. 
     It's not the natural order of things for a coach to have to witness five of his former players leave this Earth before he does. But that is where I am now. During Jeremy's funeral I was asked to share a few memories and because of where I was seated, I had a clear view of Jeremy's lovely wife and children, as well as his parents and brothers. I couldn't begin to imagine what they were feeling. 
     The Bible tells the story of Ruth, who when told by her mother-in-law Naomi to return to her people after her husband's death, refused to do so. "Where you go, I will go," she said. Having no idea where they were going or what lay ahead, she ventured out in faith out of her loyalty and trust in Naomi. 
     Like Ruth, Jeremy trusted me enough to follow in my footsteps during a critical stage in his life, and someday I will return the favor by following in his path to a great reunion baseball game in Heaven. If Jeremy is pitching in that game, I think I would rather coach than play. There's no way I could hit that curveball. 
     It's comforting to know where my precious Jeremy Cox went the instant after his last breath here on Earth. I just wish he hadn't had to go there so soon. And I wish he hadn't had to go before his coach. It's not the natural order of things.