My Goal to be the Best

 The first organized sport was Little League baseball for Mars Hill in rural Chilton County Alabama. I played catcher for one year. A couple three years later I played Babe Ruth baseball. My dad loved baseball, but I found out in was not for me.

I tried basketball as a high school freshman. We were in a league of ninth graders that were too tall for the seventh and eighth grade and too immature for high school. We had a great season losing one game that season.

I went out for football in the seventh grade and loved it. Unfortunately, it left me too injured to play basketball. My family was poor, and I could only play one sport. I chose football. I can testify that in all three organized events I watched the first game of each from the sideline. I did watch Mars Hill’s semi-pro baseball games but that was it.

My first football banquet was a unique experience. It was a big night for Jemison High School football. We for runner-up state champions in Alabama 4-A high school football. I rode the banquet with my cousins and met my date there. Mom got her a corsage, and I gave it to her. She came with her parents and brothers.

The meal was delicious. My favorite dish was the apple cobbler with ice cream top. It was the first time I had ever had what I learned was pie-a-mode. I had never been to extravagant event in my life.

After the meal they presented everyone on the team with a certificate of participation. Those that played received a letter “J” for Jemison that could be sewn on a sweater or jacket. I had played a total of three plays all year, but I was a practice team dummy. I was ignorant about such happenings and awards.

Several trophies were given that night. I made up my mind that I was going to win a trophy. Two years later my junior year the team awarded me with the “Best Defensive Player” trophy. My senior year they honored me with “Most Valuable Defensive Player” trophy.

By the time my daughter was playing volleyball awards were inclusive. When I attended me sports banquet, every player received a trophy and there were no accolades for the top player or players.

My daughter's freshman year while in State Volleyball Tournament, judges had my daughter in first place to win a trophy. Aware that My daughter was in the running for one of the tournament trophies, her coach pulled her from the game. Judges scratched her from the ballet. Her coach told my daughter that she did not want her to have an award.

A year or two later my daughter played in a regional tournament receiving an award. One again her coach was everyone gets the same reward, no special awards. The sponsoring regional tournament coach sent my daughter trophy to Jemison High School, and the principal awarded my daughter in front of the whole school.

I thought such shenanigans were wrong back then. I knew from ninth grade civics class that socialism and atheist communism wanted everyone to receive the same wages regardless of the expertise of the worker. Fast forward to the last few years and inclusion, quotas, mandates, and political correctness want everyone to get the same award. The end result is mediocrity.

My brother took his crew to dinner one day. Most of his crew were younger workers. They were in favor of socialism in the United States. Not seeing anything wrong, my brother used the tip for the waitress as an example.

They had agreed that their waitress did an exemplary job. My brother asked them if it was fair to give the tip the restaurant to disperse it equally among the waiters and waitresses.
They all said no that it belonged to the waitress that served them. He told his employees that is the difference between socialism and awarding a job well done.

Know ye not that they which run in a race run all, but one receiveth the prize? So run, that ye may obtain. And every man that striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things. Now they do it to obtain a corruptible crown; but we an incorruptible. I therefore so run, not as uncertainly; so fight I, not as one that beateth the air: But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection: lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway. I Corinthians 9:24-27 KJV

Worrying is a Waste of Imagination

 Time flies.  Over thirty-seven years ago, I had a hurting in my chest.  I didn’t think much of it thinking it was indigestion.  Then I started have some pressure on the left side of my neck.  I shrugged it off, but when I started having pain down my left arm, I was concerned.  I thought that I might be having a heart attack.

I did not want to die at the cement plant, so I made a trip to see the human resource manager, Joe Carey.  I really didn’t want to see him because he had a tendency to overreact.  I knew that if were a heart attack, he may have one himself, but company policy was to report all injuries regardless of how minor.  This was not accident related, but I feared it would be if I died at work.

Sure enough, Joe panicked.  He told me to go immediately to see the company doctor who just happened to be my family doctor.  After a barrage of tests, Dr. Mitchell said I was not having a heart attack.  I remember looking at him and said, “Doc, I’m okay and I know what I need to do.”  I returned to work, gave Joe a report, and returned to work. 

That evening, I went home and sat on the bed, took a long look in the mirror, and had a heart to heart, no pun intended here, conversation with me.  As I looked at the man in the mirror, I told him that he was under too much stress.  I told him that no one expected him to make straight A’s at the University of Montevallo.  It was difficult enough to work a forty-hour week, take twelve hours (full time student) of classes, and be a husband, dad, and pastor.  I reminded him that no one cared what kind of grades he made and that he was the one that applied all the pressure.

The man in the mirror reminded me that he was going to school for the Lord and wanted to be an example of God’s call on his life.  He said that it was the cement plant that forced him to miss all his classes and refused to accommodate his class schedules. The University agreed that he did not have to attend classes because he had a high-grade point average.  He only had to do the assignments and take tests.

The conversation ended when I agreed with myself that I was not going to worry about it.  The hurting stopped and I made all Bs that college term.  That was great.  My wife attended all her classes and all mine too with the exception of computer, which I was able to take night classes.  She tape-recorded my classes and took notes.

My grades improved when I stopped worrying.  Classes were more interesting, and I had a great time.  The straight Bs cost me Summa Cum Laude, Magna Cum Laude, or even Cum Laude.  You are right.  Who cares?  That was my point to myself.   I did graduate with high enough grades to graduate with honors and apply a Master’s Degree and eventually a Doctorate.  The biggest discovery from college, stop worrying.

I should have known better.  Dad taught us not to worry.  Though he was not a Christian, he reminded us constantly that God was in control.  It was disrespectful, but he would say, “The Old Man Upstairs is in control.  If the sun don’t come up in the morning, what are you gonna do about it?”  Another favorite of dad’s was, “In a hundred years, who cares?”  God taught us about the providence of God.  God is on His throne and when He walked on earth, He admonished His followers to give their burdens to Him.

God is well aware of the troubles that you and I face.   I believe our present troubles are for God’s glory, making us better for the future.  God will use our bad for good that others my see the power of God in our lives.

I read something the other day that never registered with me before.  I came at a critical juncture of my journey.  It was, “Worrying is a waste of imagination.”  Worry comes from the Old English word wyrgan, which means to strangle.  Author Mark Twain writes, “I have lived through some terrible things in my life, some which actually happened.”

I come from a long line of worriers on momma’s side of the family.  Mom worried about everything and daddy acted as though he did not have a care in the world.  I heard a preacher say a long time ago that “Worrying for a believer is a sin, the Bible says fret not.”  I do worry from time to time, but remind myself, sometimes looking the mirror, that God has it under control and he does not want me to worry.  Hey, God’s got it!

 

Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee: He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved (Psalm 55:22 KJV).

 

And which of you with taking thought can add to his stature one cubit?  If ye then be not able to do that thing which is least, why take ye thought for the rest? (Luke 12:25-26 KJV)

 

Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God (Phil 4:6 KJV).

 

Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you (I Peter 5:7 KJV).