Short Stories

Twelve Degrees of Glory

by Terry Barlow
04/27/21
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Preface:   I don't write about these experiences to present myself as some great athlete. I never had a jersey retired as a pastor friend of mine did. Rather,  I write the following at the urging of friends and because of the enormous benefits I have derived from participation in sports. Some of the most exhilarating and ecstatic moments of my life occurred in sporting events, but some other agonizing moments as well. Also I have learned much about moral character and discipline as an athlete.. My landlady in college was a perceptive and highly educated woman. She observed what she called a "football discipline" in my life and believed it would help carry me through many challenges that were ahead. She proved to be right on target.  It is some of this that I hope to pass on to the readers of this work.

Chapter 1. The Buttonhook

One of the foremost lessons that come to mind from my life's experience in athletics is an incident from high school football, an area where I had some of my best success. I had several college scholarships as a tight end/receiver, one of the most notable being Lafayette in Easton, Pennsylvania.  One of our assistant coaches had dubbed me "sticky fingers." The weekend that our head coach drove Mike, a defensive player, (and good friend of mine) and myself to Lafayette for a scholarship weekend, I was feeling pretty proud of myself and spouting off in the backseat when the coach reminded me, "You're not being invited so much for what you achieved, Terry, as much as for what you have the potential to achieve." That comment put things quickly into perspective for me. 
  One of the biggest flashes of that potential occurred the night I caught about 8 passes carrying us down the field toward the end zone. No other plays seemed to be working as well as the "buttonhook" pass. When we got close to the end zone the defense began double teaming me, which allowed Tim our fullback to slip beyond the safety and catch a touchdown pass. In my rather selfish mindset I wasn't very happy at first, to be honest with you, because I fully expected to score a touchdown on that drive. I had definitely earned it in my thinking, but what I realize now is that I had become the perfect decoy to draw the attention of the defenders and allow someone else to go undetected.  The one who caught the pass wasn't known for being a good receiver and that was so much the better for us, it proved to be. The important thing was that we scored and won the game, after all, not who caught the winning pass. My reward was a good writeup in the Saturday morning paper, and probably the attention of some college football scouts in the stands.
  The rhythm that our young sophomore quarterback and I found that night was key to our winning that game, just not in the way that either of us expected. Our senior quarterback and arguably the best athlete on the team was already the recipient of scholarships based on the strength of his solid performance as a junior in leading the team to a winning season. Later he and I would attend Rutgers together. (He had been the hard-throwing pitcher off of whom I had hit two opposite field home runs in Little League, one of them with my mom and grandmother in attendance. I was the winning pitcher on both occasions.) He injured himself early, however,  in this his senior season. That fact coupled with a new head coach who didn't know him kept him from ever regaining his starting position as a senior. It was a tale of two contrasting seasons for him and he never seemed to regain his confidence that year. How fragile a thing is success and the popularity that often accompanies it!  When we are part of a team and team-minded, we learn to be team players whether it be in sports, work, ministry or any other area of life. Our greatest fulfillment then is becoming the success of the team, and not individual accolades, as satisfying as those can be.  I found it interesting that one of my better friends and a co captain of the team was later making fun of the buttonhook pass. There may have been some jealousy involved in that, I realize now. I pointed out to him that he as an offensive linemen  had not been opening up any holes for the running game so the buttonhook was necessary,  and that seemed to silence him. But that came from a "leader" on the team so it is no wonder that we did not win as many games as that football program was accustomed to winning. In fact it was owing much to that winning tradition from the past that we had as many college scouts present in our games as we did that year.

Chapter 2. Upper Class Bully

As a sophomore end and member of the junior varsity, we would occasionally scrimmage the varsity in practice. (I even had the honor of not only dressing once for a varsity game but actually playing and catching a fairly long pass. I wasn't fast enough that year to score on that play and the coach glared at me instead of celebrating the catch.) There was a particular defensive end on the varsity, very wiry and quick, who regularly played opposite me. He was always rattling my helmet with violent blows to my head which were over and above what anyone would expect when scrimmaging one's own teammates. I had done nothing to harm him or provoke his aggressive attacks. Now all these years later I wonder if it might have had something to do with the color of my skin. Whatever the case, one scrimmage I was fed up with this individual pummeling me play after play and, junior varsity or no junior varsity, I lashed out at him physically on the next play sending a forearm to his neck and chin area. I must have popped him pretty good judging from the flurry of punches that he threw immediately following my forearm. The coaches had to break us up, but this defensive end showed me clearly he was clearly unable to take what he was dishing out play after play. He sent a message that I as a member of the junior varsity was expected to put up with his abuse without ever retaliating, though he himself was unable to do the same. I wondered if even our coaches had the same expectation. At any rate in the scuffle I received a black eye that was the source of much mockery in the locker room. Instead of rallying around me for standing up to a starting varsity player's abuse they giggled and pointed their fingers. As when an offensive tackle went downfield illegally cancelling my long touchdown catch in a close game and laughed about it,  it was symptomatic of the lack of unity that existed on that team throughout our playing years, and it showed in that we were unable to continue the dominant winning tradition as seniors. (The catch, though, was written up in the paper the next day in a quote by the opposing coach so it didn't "pass" unnoticed, and inwardly I was glad I had stood up to that upperclassman, and thereby exhibited a little "fire in my heart" and a little "sting in my veins!")

Chapter 3. The Role Player

  One of the four or five championship teams I had the pleasure of playing for and the foremost among them all was the seminary basketball team. .(These championships were made all the more sweet by the bitter fact that I once played on a high school team that failed to win a game.) Midwaythrough the seminary season there were a few disgruntled players who felt they weren't getting as much playing time as they deserved, or that when they played they weren't getting enough opportunities to shoot. I was among those players and was describing the situation as I saw it to a friend who made this simple suggestion: why don't you talk to the coach about it? It seems now like a no-brainer but then at the time it was not automatic for some reason.  I decided to follow that advice and it brought a good result. The coach assured me that if I resolved to arrive at certain times for practice and concentrated on certain skills I would play more. I did those things and, indeed, found myself with more playing time. (Our junior varsity coach in high school, Mr Fetrow, once surprised us with a game time decision to start another less talented player in my player in my place, after I had practiced all week with the first team. As the game wore on I ended playing about as much as I normally would have played, but the initial benching stunned both me and the one who replaced me. I understand now that the coach was trying to light a much needed fire under me, to motivate me to play harder, as well as to instill some confidence in the other player. Good coaches often have to do that.  Clem, a Little League assistant coach asked me on the way to a game, "You can't hit, can you?" I knew what he was fishing for and I responded with a decisive home run. The operative part of the sentence Clem spoke was "can you"?)

  There was another reserve player for whom things were not changing however. He was on the verge of quitting the team as others were, but I managed to seize an opportunity to encourage him one day, and it proved to be a crucial move later in the season. Role players are distinguished from star players in that they tend to study a variety of positions and situations to prepare themselves for the possibility they may eventually be needed in one of those positions or situations. Oftentimes starting players are injured, sometimes they get themselves into foul trouble or foul out of a game altogether. That is when a role player can step into an opportunity. Or a role player can have a significant effect on a team's morale through their locker room and sideline presence. I have had the privilege and taste of being a star in some moments in my athletic career and I am thankful for those moments, but more often I have had another kind of privilege of being a role player with a supportive purpose. On this particular seminary team my role was supportive. I had the honor of being asked to pray prior to the championship game which I gladly accepted. I had noticed how the ugliness of the intensity had escalated at every higher level as the tournament progressed. There was a growing urgency and even desperation. I likened it to what I expected and was beginning to notice in the realm of end time spiritual warfare as the return of Jesus Christ draws nearer. 

  We barely won that championship game, and it was largely because of the outside sharpshooting of the very player I had talked out of quitting with God's help. He came off the bench when our team was down a player and provided a powerful shot in the arm when we least expected it! I ended up with the net we cut down. Feeling a little guilty about having it all to myself, I gave it to the seminary student center. After displaying it for a while they gave it back to me. It remains in my study to this day.😊

  Not long after we won that decisive game, I encountered our seminary president walking across the campus. I greeted him and then happily informed him that our seminary basketball team had won the league championship. He was unimpressed and unenthusiastic,to say the least, and muttered something about basketball not being our priority as seminarians. While that is true, I consider the championship experience and some of the fallout from it an invaluable part of my total seminary education. It's not all about what we glean from the lecture halls. It's also how we apply it in the "laboratories" of life that matters.

Chapter 4.  The Leadoff Hitter

   One of the best highlights of my organized baseball experience was being selected once to bat leadoff in the batting order on our teener baseball team. I had hit so well in the previous game that our coach awarded me the leadoff spot in the following game. (Incidentally, this same coach was the father of the quarterback and friend I mentioned in chapter one who had later attended Rutgers University with me. He was also a talented shortstop on this particular baseball team.) In the previous game I had noted and realised how essential the mental approach is to hitting. I was batting with more confidence than I ever had in my life. I would step up to the plate KNOWING that I was going to get a hit, and, sure enough, it would happen.  Only it didn't just happen, I was actually doing it! That kind of confidence can compensate for a lack of great talent. On the other hand, when that confidence is absent, it's absence can nullify significant talent.

  I realize now that much confidence results from a father's blessing on his child. I believe our coaches blessing on and solid relationship with his son was spilling over into my life without my realizing what was happening. I'm sure others on the team were reaping the same benefit. The coach was like a surrogate father to us. That influence seemed to have transformed me into a confident and aggressive, and efficient hitter. I promptly responded by leading off the next game by getting on base with a single.

  Once when playing for a city league softball team in San Francisco I was assigned the sixth spot in the batting order by our player coach. I remember being disappointed by that. My pride wanted to be selected third, fourth, or even fifth in the order but not sixth. We played a very good and experienced team after that in what could easily have been an intimidating game for us, and I hit well in that spot. The important thing is to be willing to hit in the place in the order where one can do the team the most good.  Since then I have observed other teams at various levels whose sixth hitter was a capable hitter, so I understand now that I had little reason to be disappointed or offended by being placed there.

 Sometimes just one word of well timed, well delivered affirmation can trigger a burst of confidence. On the other hand, on harsh or jealous word of criticism or ridicule can shut it down, especially if the athlete is the kind of temperament that feeds off words of affirmation for its sense of security and assurance. I can remember much later in my life that kind of assurance and aggressive confidence surfacing in one of my last official YMCA league basketball games. I was driving right and left to the basket more and not settling for so many long outside shots. Probably I was thinking less about it and playing by instinct instead. As I did that I was drawing a lot of fouls and getting to the foul line. What's even better is that I was making those foul shots which greatly increased my point total. It wasn't all about points though but about playing with a different mentality, playing with more abandon offensively and defensively and more willingness to take risks. 

 Finally I can say that it was the only time I can remember, with the possible exception of one or two other times, that the opposing team employed a "box and one" defense against me to attempt to neutralize me. I don't remember it working however. That is always a high compliment to the player that is so defended. Thanks, I still accept the compliment to this very day😊

 I still think in terms of batting orders, by the way. I start my day with 3 devotionals, my favorite being the lead-off devotional. Then comes my fourth "batter", the cleanup hitter, which is the direct reading of the Bible itself. Yet it is more than merely reading, it is treasure hunting, and that's what helps  makes it so potent.

Chapter 5.  Another Kind of Trophy

   I can't say that I won lots of trophies in my athletic career, which may make the ones I did win all the more precious. There are a couple, a medal and a trophy, that are in another category from the rest, and I would also add a third. One was a medal that a special needs athlete won in a local track competition. Since I was his coach I was allowed to keep the 🏅 medal. That meant a lot to me and still does whenever I look at it. A second was in the form of a plaque I received in recognition of a lifesaving incident involving a family at the North Carolina coast on a day when there was a dangerous undertow. The other was a good sportsmanship 🏆 trophy I was awarded for breaking up a fight before it ever really got started, nipping it in the bud by standing between, another way my size paid off that night. It took place in a small Alaskan native village where I was teaching at the time. Before television made its way to all the homes in that village, the evening basketball games played in the gym on the hill in the center of the island were the primary sources of entertainment. The fight that tried to start was evidently stemming from a feud between the two families. A coach and a player were lunging angrily at each other. I didn't know the details of the background and history of the feud and, frankly didn't want to know, but neither did I want to see blood shed on the basketball court that night, nor did I want the fans to see it, several of whom were my own students. It wasn't a gladiator fight they came to see but a basketball game. I came that night to play basketball, not to referee a fight, but as destiny would have it, I got a little taste of both.

  A few days later Lonnie, one of my fifth grade students, spoke up in class and said, "Mr Barlow, they were bragging on you last night!"  

"How's that, Lonnie?" I responded.

"They asked for you among the spectators at the game last night. They had a trophy to present to you."

"A trophy, what kind of trophy?" I asked.

"A good sportsmanship trophy, because you broke up that fight the other night. . You broke up what coulda been a bad fight," answered Lonnie. 

  It felt like a privilege and I was humbled to be honored that way. And that it happened in front of some students that knew me made it even more of an honor. At that time in my life I still would rather have had an MVP trophy, but nw when I look back I realize more how unique that trophy really is, and how it reflects care, and concern, and respect for other people. And that traces back to someone's character more directly than does athletic talent, although certainly character is involved in developing talent. Yet, even then, it's more about caring about ourseves than it is about caring for other people. 

  So the track medal and the sportsmanship trophy distinguish themselves from the other athletic honors by the fact that they contribute toward a certain calling to serve and to help facilitate good for others along with myself.

Chapter 6.  Finish the Job

  My friend Fred and I were enjoying a little recreation break from our service with Youth With A Mission in Tangier, Morocco. We decided to play a little one on one basketball out back of the mission house. Fred was obviously not an experienced basketball player, so I quickly jumped out ahead in the game. We were playing to 10 or 11 baskets, first to that number being the winner. I thought I would coast along and give him more of a chance. After all, I had played organized basketball most of my school years, and had learned a move or two. I had even recently learned how to shoot a hook shot left handed (I am right handed) and that had given me an advantage in a recent pick up game.

  What I hadn't realized, though, was the extent of Fred's grit and competitiveness. What he lacked in skill, he more than made up for with sheer determination. My comfortable lead gradually eroded away and I was suddenly in a close game, and Fred's strength was prevailing against my talent. Before I knew it I had lost the game, I had waited too long to take the game seriously.

  I rationalized to myself that it really didn't matter who won the game, what mattered most was our companionship. And while that was true, I still was bothered inwardly that I had misjudged my opponent and misread the situation, and had not given my best effort, as Fred clearly had. 

  Today I think of the prophet Elisha having instructed King Joash, who was battling the Syrians, to strike the ground with an arrow. Joash struck the ground 3 times. (2 Kings 13) Strangely, Elisha became angry that Joash had not struck the ground five or six times. In his dying words he told Joash that he could have "consumed" the Syrians but instead settled for only a partial victory. That had to be an important lesson or it would not have waited to be delivered as the closing punctuation of the prophet's life. 

  It doesn't take much more time or effort for us to "strike the ground" a fourth, fifth, or sixth time with all of our hearts,  but it is time and effort well invested and energy well expended,  because it keeps our enemies or opposition from rearing up again and surprising us with setbacks when we least suspect it. And those tend to be the most unpleasant of surprises.

Chapter 7.  Learning to Pace Ourselves

  Growing up I had a good friend named Craig who lived less than a block away. Although he was only a year older than me, he was like a big brother in the way he influenced me and sometimes protected me. We were friends from fifth grade on into college, when he attended Princeton and played football and I attended Rutgers. On more than one occasion I visited him at Princeton some forty five minutes away.

  The baseball field where we played Little League ball was a block from his house and we would sometimes hang out there. One day I challenged him to a race around the perimeter of the field, which was about four hundred yards around.  I was built more like a runner than he and I felt very confident I would win the race, or I wouldn't have suggested it. I exploded out of the "blocks" and built a large early lead. By the half way point I was beginning to tire and felt my lead diminishing. I tried to find a strong pace to continue, but by the three quarter point I was already exhausted, and Craig was steadily gaining on me. By the conclusion of the race I was still running but had nothing left, no energy in reserve for a final "kick." Craig blew by me a few yards before the finish line and never looked back in my direction. It was a  humbling experience to say the least.

  If I had an unconscious strategy it was to jump out at the start and leave him so far in the dust that he could never catch up with me. If he had one it was to take his time and see how the race unfolded, and maybe by a steady pace the race would "come to him" and he could accelerate at just the right time. That proved to be the wiser strategy of the two. 

  It reminds me of an interview I heard of once with the great Michael Jordan. He was asked how it was that he was able to finish games in such a dominant way. He replied that he always reminded himself to keep some energy in reserve for a strong finish to the game on his part. He was successful in doing so because he usually was able to outplay his opponents especially down the stretch where so many games are won or lost. Michael seemed to have another gear into which he could shift in those moments, a gear that other players didn't seem to have. (My nephew played on the same college team as Jordan, so I intend to ask him first-hand what he observed in those years, before I finish this book.)

  What an example this is for us as believers in these end times before the Return of Christ! What an example for anyone really, anyone running the race of life, and we all are, whether we realize it or not. It is a reminder to pace ourselves and to keep some energy in reserve for what may be trying times ahead. We ought not to try to do too much too soon, too quickly, but to allow instead for the contest to come to us. This doesn't mean that we do nothing, only that what we do is measured and timed to suit the Master's Plan.

Yes, the Master has a Master Plan and all the wise strategies, individualized and collective, that go along with that Plan and help to fulfill it. Those who fulfill the Master's purpose for their lives are also the most "fulfilled" as individuals.

Chapter 8.  At What Cost

    Once when I was fresh out of seminary and serving as a dorm counselor in a small college, a local church was sponsoring a three on three basketball tournament. I knew a couple of students who were athletic and fairly good players so I enlisted them to form a team including myself as one of the players. We may have had 4 players so that we could rotate in and out of games and get some brief rest as needed. 

  I saw the tournament as a chance to compete and measure our skills against other teams from the campus and the church, and the local teams, but also as a way to get to know my own teammates better and build relationships on our campus. As the tournament progressed we continued to win and we found ourselves still standing in the later stages of single elimination play.

  As is typical of tournament play the competition becomes rougher and more physical, and more heated the further a team advances, as I noted earlier. This tournament was no different in that respect. In one of the last games that would decide who was to be champion I provoked a young opposing player who became visibly frustrated and annoyed at how aggressive I was playing. After his team lost to ours in a fairly close game, he stomped off the court offended.

  Even though we went on from there to win the tournament, for me it was a tainted championship. I kept thinking of the one who had been so offended in one of those last games. I kept asking myself if it was really worth it, winning this little, unknown tournament, or any tournament or game for that matter, at the high cost of a broken, embittered relationship and the palpable resentment it produced right there on the court, before there was any celebration. In fact, I wonder and question whether any celebration is even possible in such circumstances. It seems the whole point of playing is missed and defeated.

  It wasn't any team that was defeated that day, it was the purpose of bonding in competitive friendship and grateful appreciation of our own skills and those of others. It was this mutual respect in the midst of athletic competition and participation that was defeated. We won, but we didn't really at such a high cost. It wasn't the first time this happened, nor would it be the last. 

  One can only hope that with each bittersweet recurrence of this scenario I lost a little more of my appetite for that kind of winning "achievement." I was aghast and saddened to read about the bitter comments of a former player about his coach that had led his team to six world championships. His resentment was preventing him from enjoying an accomplishment that few could even begin to match. Yet still, he was stewing in his negativity instead.

 Sports has the potential to bond and unify or to divide by driving a lasting wedge between competitors if we aren't careful. I am reminded of this in another way by a tennis match I played with my own son Chris. He was beating me (not hard to do) and it would have been better not to have kept score because as I became frustrated I was losing the appreciation of just being able to play tennis with him at all, since it had been so long and he had come all the way from Australia!.Sometimes our competitiveness can work against us if we let it.

  A better memory involved a two on two pick up game  near Malaga, Spain where a group of missionariesies lived. This was the very same group that Jesus used to lead me to Himself. They would sometimes take a break and watch us play basketball. A teenage son of one of these missionaries was my teammate, and he was anything but athletic. It was a close contest that was coming down to the last deciding basket. My temptation was to " hog the ball " and take the final shot myself. Reluctantly, though, I did as I felt prompted and threw my young friend the ball. He proceeded to sink the winning basket, and my joy and delight was more and different than it would have been had I been the one who scored instead. Seeing my teammate rejoice was the best part of my celebration. I learned a key lesson that day, but, admittedly, haven't always lived up to it.

Chapter 9.   The Measuring Stick.         

 I always admired my older brothers growing up and I was proud of their achievements. When it came to their athletic exploits, I was their biggest fan. So whenever I achieved some particular feat that neither of them had achieved, nobody was more surprised than I. A swimming pool, for example, seemed to be the scene of many  significant encounters over the years, both athletically and otherwise. I had met my future sister in law and my wife to be at a pool. My sister in law at that time was a life guard at the pool, and later I would become a life guard and considered it a challenge to meet all the qualifications. When my next oldest brother and I were in our twenties, we went for a getaway weekend to the Palo Alto area in California. During a visit to a local pool we got involved in some kind of one on one water polo match in the water. We were always organising little competitions between ourselves which my brother usually one. But this particular match I won convincingly and I can't describe the enormity of the boost that gave my confidence.

 My heart was also broken that weekend by something that happened concerning a girlfriend. So while my confidence soared at the pool, it took a plunge at the party, so there I was left hovering somewhere in between. And as my brother drove us home that night I couldn't help but cry, but he noticed it no matter how I may have tried to hide it in the dark. That's when he said quietly something I remember to this day. "At least you know you're alive, Terry." Dead people can't feel a thing, neither can numb people. The same capacity to feel pain and sorrow can soon turn to include pleasure and even joy.

 Another incident at a pool involved a friend named Frank who was arguably the best athlete at our high school and one of the biggest and strongest to boot. He and I were hosting around harmlessly in the water wrestling, when I lifted him off his feet and threw him back into the water a few feet away. He scrambled back to redeem himself somehow but I had clearly overpowered him. I was amazed as I began to better realize and appreciate my own strength.

 There was an intellectual equivalent to the water polo victory over my brother that happened in the same general period of time. He was gathered with a group of his political allies including college students when he gave some strategy that had an obvious flaw, at least it was obvious to me. In this kind of gathering I was not inclined to speak at all, but this time I could not contain my critical comment which I intended to be constructive. It was greeted with a long silence that told me I had caught him and the others off guard. He had no reply or rebuttal. To me I had just accomplished intellectually what I had achieved athletically that day in the pool. Not that I was in any way superior, but I knew now that I was coming into ny own in both respects.

 Many years later the political and religious debates between us were continuing. We were sitting in the living room with my elderly parents. My brother was haranging me about something ideological when my female friend Leslyn intervened so adeptly in my defense that I was amazed, because my brother was again dumbfounded. That was such a rare phenomena that it became one of the major proofs that I had found my wife to be, 💑 a true helpmeet. 😁  I had my brother to thank again for helping to bring out the best in me and for me, though he was not always necessarily intending to do so.

 Chapter 10. Inconsistent

  I had a friend one who taught in the same school system as I did and who also coached the boys high school basketball team. We had been introduced to the community the same year when we joined the teachers' team to play the town champions in an annual basketball game which had become a local tradition. The town champions had never been defeated by a teacher team. But when we played we were able to beat them in close game before a large turnout from the community. We became instant local heroes.  Going forward whenever the two of us played on the same team We would win. The harmony and admiration, and mutual respect we enjoyed in our relationship was a vital part of all the success we dad on the court. But that wouldn't last indefinitely. Harmony and respect is essential to the success of any team or group, be it athletic or otherwise. Even if it doesn't extend much beyond the court or workplace, it still makes an enormous difference.

 We had hunted together and he had invited me over to his place to watch the World Series that year. It came time for his basketball team to play the faculty. It was treated as any other home  game on the schedule with paid attendance. I played on the faculty team that year in what was also a close game going down to the wire. I received a pass as I crossed the half court line and launched a last second shot with happened to swish through for the victory. My coach friend began screaming angrily at the player who had been loosely guarding me, as if it was his fault. I felt for that player, but before I knew it I was swept up in the arms of a teammate and swung around in celebration. The crowd was stunned along with the disgruntled coach.

 That was one of the most exhilarating moments of my athletic career. Most athletes don't get to experience that is an entire lifetime. When I reminded the teacher who had lifted me off my feet in celebration a few weeks later about the incident, he had already forgotten about it, to my amazement. The local pastor had even mentioned it from the pulpit the following Sunday. At the time I little realized how much favor had been bestowed upon me in that game. The deciding basket was only the culmination of a solid all around game for me.

  A few days later as my coach friend and I sat in that same gym, I asked him what he thought of that last second shot. He replied that it was a "lucky shot." I couldn't argue with that assessment. In another conversation in up that gym the coach told me, "Terry, as a player you are inconsistent. One today you are great, the next day you disappear."  

"Well," I replied, " at least I'm great sometimes."

"That you are, " he answered without hesitation.

 It is true, it is better to be great some of the time than never to be great. But still there is much to be said for consistency, and for taking what practical steps we can toward cultivating that quality. The more consistent we are as individuals the more people know what to expect from us, whatever kind of team or group we are part of, athletic or otherwise. In our families too it helps to know ahead of time what we are going to get from and through each other. It tends to make for more peace. 

 Around that time a local Christian businessman organized a weekend challenge between a group of players he selected from local churches and a city league team from Juneau the capital city. The Juneau players and coaches would be hosted and lodged in local homes for the two games to be played Friday and Saturday nights. My coach friend had nothing to do with organizing the games but was impressed by how it was handled and how well it was attended. We won the first game by a cliffhanger a missed dunk on the final play which would have sent the game into overtime as I recall. I scored 40 points that night and both teams gathered for refreshments afterwards at a pastor Lew's home. The pastor had also started at center for our team. I remember the opposing players regarding me with a kind of awe as we socialized. The awe dissipated the next night, however, as I came back to 🌎 earth in our loss. When my friend  starting teammate Walter asked me how many I scored I told him 24 points. "Twenty four on an off night eh?"  He responded memorably.

 In another conversation in that gym, it seems most of our communication took place sitting in the gym, I tried to admonish my coach friend about the perils of his excessive drinking. He would always seem to develop a beer belly in the off-season, and then work it off dutifully and laboriously by vigorous workouts as basketball season approached. As soon as I broached this subject I felt an instant breach in our relationship. He reacted bitterly and resentfully. 

  My intention in the confrontation had been good, but what my friend needed most from me was acceptance and continued friendship, not such serious advice. I wish I could say I learned my lesson from that fiasco, but it has played itself out several times in various way over the years. This is the dark side of consistency, when we consistently do wrong or misjudge when it is best to speak correction and when it is best to keep silent, and lead by loving example. This is a lesson I have since learned the hard way.

 Once, years before, I had already begun to learn that lesson when our championship high school intramural team defeated the faculty team made up of some of our football coaches. We had superior height on that team, each of us being at least six feet tall. I  happened to have scored 30 points in that game. The next day in the hallway one of the coaches called me "gunner."  I corrected him rather proudly yelling back, "it's only "gunner" if you're missing the shots, I was making them!"  That proved to be a mistake because, however true my point may have been, the coach insisted on a rematch, no doubt to teach me a lesson. In that second game he defended me personally and shut me down as well as shut me UP, as they defeated us convincingly. We weren't athletic enough to compensate for my lack of significant scoring that game. My quarterback friend heard how it all came about and concluded that the coach had reacted in an immature manner. That may have been but my wagging tongue certainly contributed. Though we lost that second game, I still cherish the memory of winning the first one. That cannot be taken from me or the others that were on our team.

 Chapter 11.   The Quilt That Never Was

  We had a friend that was skilled in handicrafts and quiltmaking.  Once when she was describing her work and showing us some samples, I got an idea 💡. I had recently acquired another sports jersey or t shirt, this one commemorating a flag football championship in our seminary intramural league.  I had accumulated enough of this kind of memoralbilia that I wondered how it would all look woclven together into some kind of quilt, a sort ofI "trophy quilt", I mused.

 I proposed the idea to our artistic friend, and she seemed to show some interest. In the meantime I kept thinking of additional victory tokens that could be included and I was beginning to get some idea in my mind of what this quilt might look like when complete. We didn't see this potential quiltmaker very often, but when we did I would bring up the subject of the championship quilt and and that, of course, I would want to compensate her for taking on the project. Each time I would see her and mention it, though, she seemed a little less interested in following through with it. The more enthusiastic I became about it as I envisioned it in my mind, the less enthusiastic she became to actually create it.

  I wondered why she couldn't seem to get motivated to start the endeavor. Was it because she thought that it was too self congratulatory, or that I was on some kind of ego trip to even consider such a tribute. I tried to examine my own motive and determine if it really was too self-centered a concept after all. At the time I didn't see any problem with it, but I also knew it was not important enough to press her about it. (For which I am sure she was grateful.) Neither was it important enough to ask anyone else to pursue. Nobody had asked me to commision such a work or ever suggested it. It was all my idea. The same cannot be said, though, for this account that I am currently writing. It has been suggested and encouraged by others. That, of course, is not always a necessary reason for doing something, but sometimes it can be a significant factor.

 It will not surprise the reader that the "trophy🏆 quilt" was never created. It never got off the ground, so to speak. Any materials I had given as content were promptly returned and I dropped the subject for any future interaction. I would even go so far as to say that I considered that God may have spoken to her by the Spirit cautioning her not to be involved in such an effort. I accepted her decision and moved on with a shrug.

 , Recently I have begun to apply a passage in Scripture to the trophy quilt fiasco. It is found on the 8th chapter of Judges where Gideon and his men win a great victory over the Midianites. They want him to rule over them but he insists that God must rule over then. He only requests one thing of them, that they surrender their golden earrings typically worn by Ishmaelites at the time. They comply and Gideon had the great weight of gold crafted into an ephod or breastplate which he enshrined in his city Orphrah.  That ephod proves to be a snare to Gideon and his house because we are told that all Israel went "whoring after it." 

 As I look back now I am thankful for a woman of God who had the wisdom not to facilitate idolatry in my life by creating an idol for me or mine to worship unwittingly. She must have known to pray before accepting my request. She must have known she would bear some responsibility if there was going to be idolatry involved. She must have reasoned that no compensation was worth being a facilitator of that idolatry. What a wise example she is to me today. May God, who is a jealous God, help us to emulate that example where it is needed in our lives today.

Chapter 12. Running Through a Troop

  One of the grandest experiences of my life was a summer opportunity in Sitka, Alaska serving as a dormitory counselor for a group of village police trainees from all over the state. As counselors a couple of us were responsible for making these mostly young men as comfortable as possible in their adjustment and transition from their various villages to a small college campus where the training was conducted by the Alaska State Patrol. Among the trainees were Eskimos, Athabascan, Haida and Tlingit natives we all got on surprisingly well together considering there huge cultural differences.

  Every morning we would rise bright and early for calisthenics. The State Police were determined that this first crop of graduates, it was the first such training of its kind in Sitka as I recall, was going to be in tip top condition by the conclusion of the summer session. As for me personally, it was probably the best physical condition I ever attained in all my years as an athlete, even though we weren't a team training for a particular sport. It was also a spiritual high point for me as I combined my spiritual disciplines with the physical ones and experienced a powerful personal encounter with Jesus Christ in one of my quiet times with Him. I was able to share with some of the trainees the details and benefits of this encounter as we went along from day to day. Not all of my colleagues were in favor of me sharing in this way, but the State Police Captain in charge happened to give his heartfelt approval, and even asked to be notified in the future if there was any way he could help me in my efforts. I took this as an additional sign of God's favor over my life as I strove to fulfill His Great Commission of making disciples.

  At the conclusion of the summer training it was decided to stage a mile race among the trainees and to time each one in the mile. As counselors we were permitted to run along with the others if we do desired. Since I had tried to subject myself to most of the same rigors as the trainees experienced throughout the summer session, I chose to run with them. We ran along a mile course that was plotted amongst a lot of colorful outdoor native art relics like totem poles. As we began the race I was well back in "the pack" just keeping pace there so as not to be left behind and embarrassed by this mass of highly energized runners. Before I knew it, though, and in such a way as would be remembered by many afterward, it was as if a wind lifted me from behind or a fire was kindled within me that launched and catapaulted me into such a surprising burst that I suddenly began blowing by everyone in front of me, everyone that is but one runner from the north of Alaska who had positioned himself way in front early in the race. It seemed I was gaining rapidly on him as well, but there was not enough distance left in the mile for me to overcome him. Later I smiled when I heard the State Police Captain say he was considering recommending that frontrunner for the Olympic Games.

 This experience becomes even more meaningful to me as I consider that the only sport I had ever coached was connected to distance running, and that was cross country. I would teach my runners, both girls and boys, to hold their hands loosely as they ran, because the other muscles of the body would follow the lead of the hands. Any pockets of unnecessary tension in the musculature of the body while running will steal away stamina and speed, especially as the distance increases. This, of course, would also apply in the spiritual race we run, or the race of life in which we are all engaged.. 

  I think it was soon after that or maybe immediately before that I read the 18th psalm and the 29th verse where it said "by my God I can run through a troop" and realized how that was exactly what had happened. Again the Holy Spirit managed to remind me of just how much our steps (even literally sometimes) are directed and energized by Him as we follow His plans for our lives.

"Glory is only grace dressed up on its Sunday clothes." - Charles Spurgeon