ONE BY ONE
. . .Jesus . . . touched with his hand the disciples . . . one by one, even until he had touched them all, and spake unto them as he touched them. (3 Nephi 18:36)
Just out of high school, she came, a little late, to summer’s first Institute class.
“Mindy! Welcome. There’s a seat right there in the second row.”
She was at the chalkboard right after class.
“How did you know my name?”
“Seminary.”
That didn’t communicate, so I explained. “I visited your class a couple of times. When I’m there I scribble out a make-shift seating chart and learn everyone’s name.”
“I must’ve been asleep. I don’t remember you coming.”
“How about when I came just last month and invited all the seniors to come to summer Institute? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“That was you?”
I had made quite an impression, I could tell. “So, what are your plans this Fall?”
“Eastern Illinois College. They were kind enough to give me a soccer scholarship.”
“Soccer player! I’ve got a couple of daughters who do that. And this summer, are you on a team?”
“AAU, 18 and under.”
“How are you doing?”
“Don’t know yet – we just started. I think we’ll be pretty good, though.”
“So what else do you do to keep out of trouble?”
She smiled. “I’m getting pretty good at not getting caught. But I do work at Karts R Us – you know – pizza, arcade, miniature golf, and go-carts?”
“The one just off the freeway at Meridian?”
“That’s the one.”
“How do you like it?”
“Oh, you know, it’s a job. We sure get some crazy customers sometimes.”
She told me about one; we chuckled. I learned that she drove a Bug. I did too – a vintage convertible (couldn’t afford a sports car, so had assuaged my mid-life crisis that way).
I tried to chat one-on-one with each of my students before or after class each week, so when it came to Mindy I asked her about the things we had in common. She would always have a weird customer to talk about, or an adventure with her Volkswagen – something interesting to relate. She in turn would ask me about my soccer-playing daughters, or what was wrong with my Bug this week.
Summer institute ended. Sure enough, she was off to college. Every time I saw her dad that fall I asked about her. One time he responded with, “Mindy thinks you walk on water, you know.”
I was of course surprised, but I recover quickly. “Well, it’s nice to learn I have somebody fooled. How did I manage to pull that off?”
“First of all, you remembered her name, and in her experience that’s rare for an adult. But you also talked to her like you cared, and for her, you’re the first adult who would remember the topic of conversation from week to week. She said it was like an ongoing conversation, only it was just once a week. I want you to know her mother and I really appreciate what you’ve done for her.”
I mumbled some sort of embarrassed something.
Later as I thought about it, I welled up with gratitude, which began leaking from my eyes.
“Lord,” I remember saying in my mind, “Is that all it takes? That’s just me – that’s what I try to do with all my students. If a simple thing like that makes a difference, I can do that for Thee.”
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Let Your Light So Shine
LET YOUR LIGHT SO SHINE
Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven. Matthew 5:16
Jeremiah was just out of high school, working in a WallyWorld warehouse, saving money for his mission. Colleen, a slightly older co-worker, approached him out of the blue one day and remarked, “Hey dude, you ever swear? I’ve never heard you swear.”
“I try not to.”
“I think that’s so cool! I swear - - - a lot, too much.”
Jeremiah had noticed, but wisely refrained from letting on.
“Could you help me quit swearing?”
That took him aback; no one other than Church members had ever before made him aware that people noticed his efforts to live the gospel. “Sure,” he answered hesitantly, “But how?”
“Just talk to me every day, ask me how I’m doing.”
“I can do that – so, how are you doing?”
“Terrible. Just *^#@ terrible. Oops.”
“Hey, I’ll catch ya tomorrow. You’ll have a better report by then, right?”
“Hope so. See ya.”
They ran into each other on break. “How ya doin’ since I saw ya last?”
“Only swore a coupla times the rest of the day at work. But last night it was another story. My sister *^# . . . made me so mad! I haven’t slipped up so far today, though. Almost did right then.”
“Think you can make it a whole day?”
“I don’t know . . . I’ll give it a shot.”
The next day Colleen found Jeremiah first thing. “Only once since I saw ya.”
“Congratulations. Make it a whole day and I’ll buy you a Snickers at break.”
“How’d you know they’re my favorite! You’re on, bro.”
And so it went. Some setbacks, but overall the intervals between relapses kept getting longer: a whole day, half a week, an entire week. Then . . .
“Jeremiah, hey Jer! Today’s the first of the month and I’m here to tell you I didn’t say one bad word all last month! I’m so @#%^* happy!”
Jeremiah wasn’t the only one who had been noticing. Norman
“You mean like a date?”
Well, I wouldn’t say that . . . but I thought maybe we could ride together . . .”
“That, buddy, is what I call a date.”
“ ‘Course if you don’t want to, I’ll see ya there . . .”
“Pick me up at 8. And don’t be late.”
(Chantilly lace and a pretty face and a ponytail hangin’ down . . .)
That went so well that he soon asked her if she’d be interested in going to church with him.
“Are you kiddin’? I thought you’d never ask! But this isn’t a date. Goin’ to church isn’t a date. You’re just givin’ me a ride to church, right?”
That went so well that, when the time was right, he asked her if she’d take the missionary discussions.
“You mean those guys with the white shirts and nametags and bicycles? Why don’t you just teach me?”
“’Cuz you’d think it was a date.”
The lessons went so well that Mary asked Norman
No wisecracks this time – he’d be honored.
And that went so well that, in due time, he asked her if she would accompany him to the temple.
“You mean like a date . . . for eternity?”
(A wiggle when ya walk and a giggle when ya talk, makes the world go round, round, round . . .)
Soon after the honeymoon Mary stood up to bear her testimony. The tears came when she began expressing her gratitude for Jeremiah.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
IF CHILDREN, THEN HEIRS
IF CHILDREN, THEN HEIRS
. . . we are the children of God:
And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ . . .
Romans 8:16-17
Arthur was born and raised in the “Holler,” homesteaded by his great grandparents and inhabited by most of their progenitors. It had become a rural shantytown in a picturesque setting, a culture of idleness and all of its attendant evils. Arthur’s maternal grandfather, the industrious exception to the rule, had long since grown tired of being the extended family’s chief provider, and had removed himself from that role by moving into town and living with the inevitable “traitor” label bestowed upon him.
Arthur was a mild, happy, friendly, trusting child. As he began high school, his grandfather, sensing his potential, invited Arthur to live in town with him and become the family’s first high school graduate.
Arthur and Krista’s social circles overlapped. When he heard about the injustice put upon her by his up until then friend Kenny, Arthur temporarily set aside his mild temperament. “Krista is the best Christian I know. When you look up ‘Christian’ in the dictionary, all it would have to say is ‘Krista Radcliffe,’” he kept saying to anyone who would listen.
A week or so after the incident, Arthur was in the back bedroom when he heard the doorbell ring. He heard his grandpa’s chair squeak, then the familiar grunt as the old man rose and slowly shuffled to the door. A muffled conversation followed, accompanied by the sound of the door shutting.
Arthur appeared in the living room. “Who was that?”
“Religious pests. Should be a law against any of their kind disturbing people at home.”
“What did they look like?”
“Young ones. White shirts, ties, name tags.”
“I’d wanted to talk to them . . .”
“You can probably catch ‘em. But take’em into the kitchen. I’m watchin’ tv.
“Oprah? That’s for girls.”
“Better’n’ listenin’ to religious nuts.”
Arthur caught up to them and was glad to let them into the kitchen through the back door, embarrassed that his grandpa was watching a “chick” show.
His baptism was heard ‘round the high school, for better and for worse: Mormonism became the topic du jour.
A few weeks later the new convert, who had been coming to everything, quit coming. To anything. Krista’s dad was his Sunday School teacher. He asked his daughter.
“It’s those girls at work, the owner’s daughters. They’re “Born Agains,” same as Kenny, and their constant anti-Mormon rants are getting to him.”
“What can I do?”
“Talk to him?”
Brad called his Sunday School student at work. “Meet me at Village Inn at quittin’ time. Dinner’s on me.” It was an offer Arthur couldn’t refuse.
They did the small talk over pot roast. Just before the blackberry cobbler a la mode, Brad blurted out, “Time for the commercial.”
“I kinda thought so.”
“So what’s goin’ on?”
“I probably won’t be coming back. You guys are weird. You don’t believe like other Christians, and that’s one thing I am – Christian.”
“Could you give me an example?”
“This business about how you can become as God. No one else teaches that – sounds like blasphemy to them, and I’m thinkin’ they just may have a point.”
“Paul wrote about that in the book of Romans.” They read the passage together, and Brad explained, “It’s in the spirit of this scripture that we teach about becoming as God, Arthur. It doesn’t diminish God when understood in this way. It emphasizes His love for us – what parent wouldn’t want his beloved children to share in everything the parent has, and to be together forever? It doesn’t diminish God to believe that mankind’s destiny is to become heirs, as His sons and daughters, to all that our Father has. In fact, it raises the child to the level of the Parent. After all, His work and His glory, that which brings satisfaction and fulfillment to Him, is to bring to pass our immortality and eternal life – to live in His and His Only Begotten’s presence forever, and to share in all that they have. As it says, this is the greatest gift that God can give to man.”
“Wow, Bro. Radcliffe, they make it sound so weird, and you make it sound so wonderful.”
“Which explanation is accompanied by the Spirit? That’s how you can tell.”
“Would you mind stopping by work in a couple of days and explaining what you just did to Lisa and Sharla? They’re good girls, and I’m sure they’d be open to what you have to say. I’ll set it up, ok?”
. . . we are the children of God:
And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ . . .
Romans 8:16-17
Arthur was born and raised in the “Holler,” homesteaded by his great grandparents and inhabited by most of their progenitors. It had become a rural shantytown in a picturesque setting, a culture of idleness and all of its attendant evils. Arthur’s maternal grandfather, the industrious exception to the rule, had long since grown tired of being the extended family’s chief provider, and had removed himself from that role by moving into town and living with the inevitable “traitor” label bestowed upon him.
Arthur was a mild, happy, friendly, trusting child. As he began high school, his grandfather, sensing his potential, invited Arthur to live in town with him and become the family’s first high school graduate.
Arthur and Krista’s social circles overlapped. When he heard about the injustice put upon her by his up until then friend Kenny, Arthur temporarily set aside his mild temperament. “Krista is the best Christian I know. When you look up ‘Christian’ in the dictionary, all it would have to say is ‘Krista Radcliffe,’” he kept saying to anyone who would listen.
A week or so after the incident, Arthur was in the back bedroom when he heard the doorbell ring. He heard his grandpa’s chair squeak, then the familiar grunt as the old man rose and slowly shuffled to the door. A muffled conversation followed, accompanied by the sound of the door shutting.
Arthur appeared in the living room. “Who was that?”
“Religious pests. Should be a law against any of their kind disturbing people at home.”
“What did they look like?”
“Young ones. White shirts, ties, name tags.”
“I’d wanted to talk to them . . .”
“You can probably catch ‘em. But take’em into the kitchen. I’m watchin’ tv.
“Oprah? That’s for girls.”
“Better’n’ listenin’ to religious nuts.”
Arthur caught up to them and was glad to let them into the kitchen through the back door, embarrassed that his grandpa was watching a “chick” show.
His baptism was heard ‘round the high school, for better and for worse: Mormonism became the topic du jour.
A few weeks later the new convert, who had been coming to everything, quit coming. To anything. Krista’s dad was his Sunday School teacher. He asked his daughter.
“It’s those girls at work, the owner’s daughters. They’re “Born Agains,” same as Kenny, and their constant anti-Mormon rants are getting to him.”
“What can I do?”
“Talk to him?”
Brad called his Sunday School student at work. “Meet me at Village Inn at quittin’ time. Dinner’s on me.” It was an offer Arthur couldn’t refuse.
They did the small talk over pot roast. Just before the blackberry cobbler a la mode, Brad blurted out, “Time for the commercial.”
“I kinda thought so.”
“So what’s goin’ on?”
“I probably won’t be coming back. You guys are weird. You don’t believe like other Christians, and that’s one thing I am – Christian.”
“Could you give me an example?”
“This business about how you can become as God. No one else teaches that – sounds like blasphemy to them, and I’m thinkin’ they just may have a point.”
“Paul wrote about that in the book of Romans.” They read the passage together, and Brad explained, “It’s in the spirit of this scripture that we teach about becoming as God, Arthur. It doesn’t diminish God when understood in this way. It emphasizes His love for us – what parent wouldn’t want his beloved children to share in everything the parent has, and to be together forever? It doesn’t diminish God to believe that mankind’s destiny is to become heirs, as His sons and daughters, to all that our Father has. In fact, it raises the child to the level of the Parent. After all, His work and His glory, that which brings satisfaction and fulfillment to Him, is to bring to pass our immortality and eternal life – to live in His and His Only Begotten’s presence forever, and to share in all that they have. As it says, this is the greatest gift that God can give to man.”
“Wow, Bro. Radcliffe, they make it sound so weird, and you make it sound so wonderful.”
“Which explanation is accompanied by the Spirit? That’s how you can tell.”
“Would you mind stopping by work in a couple of days and explaining what you just did to Lisa and Sharla? They’re good girls, and I’m sure they’d be open to what you have to say. I’ll set it up, ok?”
Thursday, December 9, 2010
IF ANY MAN SHALL ADD UNTO THESE THINGS
IF ANY MAN SHALL ADD UNTO THESE THINGS . . .
. . . If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book:
And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life . . . (Rev. 22:18-19)
“Dad, I’ve liked him since 8th grade . . .”
Brad sensed that this was going to be awkward for both of them, and that his daughter had spent quite some time getting her part just right.
“Just who might this lucky guy be?”
“Jeremy. He’s been quite friendly lately. In fact, he wants me to do something with him this week-end.”
“Barbeque at his house with family and friends? Are your mom and I invited?”
“DA-AD! Hike and picnic – Cave Springs.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Jessie and Justin might go too.”
“But . . .”
“I know I’m not quite 16 yet, but I almost am. And I’m a sophomore, and Jessie’s parents say being a sophomore is close enough, so they let her. . . Please Dad, it’s not like I’m trying to date when I’m 13 or something. I’ve been waiting so long for this! And finally! – someone who I like, likes me too! Please, Dad – it would mean a lot to me . . .”
“You know what the prophet says, and it’s only five more weeks. You can wait that long. If Jeremy likes you now he’ll like you in five weeks. He’ll ask you again. No, Krista, we’re going to obey the prophet on this one, Just hold on for another short while – you’ll be glad you did.”
The stare would melt an iceberg. She stomped off, slamming SHUT the door to her room.
The time passed too quickly for Brad, not fast enough for Krista. It was Tuesday; her birthday was Thursday. She did a Kramer entrance into the family room, well into her rant: “I’ve been waiting all my life for this birthday, and now I’m almost there, and nobody’s ever going to ask me out! I’m fat, I’m ugly, I have zits, I’ve probably got spinach on my teeth! Why did I ever think boys were going to line up when I turned 16!”
“What about Jeremy?”
“He’s a jerk!”
“In less than five weeks he’s morphed from a prince to a jerk?”
“He’s hangin’ with that, that . . . MONICA! The sicko!” She stomped off, slamming SHUT the door to her room.
Brad was perplexed. “Hm-m . . . do I detect a pattern developing here?” The phone rang. The girl in the bedroom with the loose door hinges picked it up.
Moments later she re-entered the main part of the house, radiantly flitting about in her best imitation of a ballet dancer. “I’ve got a date! A date, a date, a date date date! You know Kenny, the cross-country guy? Well, a bunch of us ate lunch together at the meet a couple weeks ago, and we happened to be sitting by each other, and we started talking, and I was impressed, but I had no idea! This is so great I can’t believe it! It’s wrestling season now, and Paige and Amanda and Jessie and I are going to watch the guys wrestle, then we’re off to Tiger Lanes. I’ll be home by midnight, Dad, I promise. OH! This is so GREAT!”
“What a difference a phone call makes! Want to help me fix your door hinges sometime Saturday?”
“I know, Dad. Sorry.”
“You know, your mother and I haven’t been bowling in a long time. I’m gonna see if she wants to go. Maybe we’ll see you there.”
“DA-AD!”
“Just kidding.”
Her friend Amanda approached Kenny at lunch the very next Monday. “How’d it go with Krista last Friday?”
“I’m not gonna date her any more.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“Found out she’s Mormon.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?”
“Don’t you know? Mormons aren’t really Christian, and I don’t date non-Christians.”
Amanda of course related her conversation with Kenny to Krista, word for word, followed by a scathing verbal editorial concerning the utterly deficient level of intelligence possessed by Kenny. And, at her next opportunity, Amanda approached Krista’s dad and politely summarized her conversation with Kenny, adding that Krista might need a word of encouragement since she was understandably devastated.
Not knowing of Amanda’s conversation with her father, Krista approached him in her best faux casual manner. “Dad, why do some people think that Mormons aren’t Christian?”
Brad didn’t let on that he knew what had transpired. “Probably because of those verses in the book of Revelation.”
“Uh, which verses might those be?”
A Bible was quickly produced and the verses read.
“That’s pretty convincing, Dad. What do we say to that?”
“Well, for one thing, it says the same thing in Deuteronomy:
Ye shall not add unto the work which I command you, neither shall ye diminish ought from it . . . Deut. 4:2
“If that’s what it really meant it would discredit all the rest of the Bible past Deuteronomy.”
“Wow!”
“For another, the New Testament existed as only separate epistles and writings, each in a different location, for centuries. It was almost 300 years before someone came up with the idea to compile those writings into a single volume. So those verses can’t be referring to the New Testament per se; they can only refer to the book of Revelation itself, and we Mormons haven’t added to or taken one iota away from that particular book, have we?
“Besides, that was not even the last book written – for example, the gospel of John was written after Revelation! If those verses really referred to the New Testament as a whole, one of the four Gospels would have to be thrown out.”
There was a long pause as Krista absorbed what she was just then learning. The slow burn was becoming apparent: “OOH! That Kenny is SO in trouble!”
. . . If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book:
And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life . . . (Rev. 22:18-19)
“Dad, I’ve liked him since 8th grade . . .”
Brad sensed that this was going to be awkward for both of them, and that his daughter had spent quite some time getting her part just right.
“Just who might this lucky guy be?”
“Jeremy. He’s been quite friendly lately. In fact, he wants me to do something with him this week-end.”
“Barbeque at his house with family and friends? Are your mom and I invited?”
“DA-AD! Hike and picnic – Cave Springs.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Jessie and Justin might go too.”
“But . . .”
“I know I’m not quite 16 yet, but I almost am. And I’m a sophomore, and Jessie’s parents say being a sophomore is close enough, so they let her. . . Please Dad, it’s not like I’m trying to date when I’m 13 or something. I’ve been waiting so long for this! And finally! – someone who I like, likes me too! Please, Dad – it would mean a lot to me . . .”
“You know what the prophet says, and it’s only five more weeks. You can wait that long. If Jeremy likes you now he’ll like you in five weeks. He’ll ask you again. No, Krista, we’re going to obey the prophet on this one, Just hold on for another short while – you’ll be glad you did.”
The stare would melt an iceberg. She stomped off, slamming SHUT the door to her room.
The time passed too quickly for Brad, not fast enough for Krista. It was Tuesday; her birthday was Thursday. She did a Kramer entrance into the family room, well into her rant: “I’ve been waiting all my life for this birthday, and now I’m almost there, and nobody’s ever going to ask me out! I’m fat, I’m ugly, I have zits, I’ve probably got spinach on my teeth! Why did I ever think boys were going to line up when I turned 16!”
“What about Jeremy?”
“He’s a jerk!”
“In less than five weeks he’s morphed from a prince to a jerk?”
“He’s hangin’ with that, that . . . MONICA! The sicko!” She stomped off, slamming SHUT the door to her room.
Brad was perplexed. “Hm-m . . . do I detect a pattern developing here?” The phone rang. The girl in the bedroom with the loose door hinges picked it up.
Moments later she re-entered the main part of the house, radiantly flitting about in her best imitation of a ballet dancer. “I’ve got a date! A date, a date, a date date date! You know Kenny, the cross-country guy? Well, a bunch of us ate lunch together at the meet a couple weeks ago, and we happened to be sitting by each other, and we started talking, and I was impressed, but I had no idea! This is so great I can’t believe it! It’s wrestling season now, and Paige and Amanda and Jessie and I are going to watch the guys wrestle, then we’re off to Tiger Lanes. I’ll be home by midnight, Dad, I promise. OH! This is so GREAT!”
“What a difference a phone call makes! Want to help me fix your door hinges sometime Saturday?”
“I know, Dad. Sorry.”
“You know, your mother and I haven’t been bowling in a long time. I’m gonna see if she wants to go. Maybe we’ll see you there.”
“DA-AD!”
“Just kidding.”
Her friend Amanda approached Kenny at lunch the very next Monday. “How’d it go with Krista last Friday?”
“I’m not gonna date her any more.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“Found out she’s Mormon.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?”
“Don’t you know? Mormons aren’t really Christian, and I don’t date non-Christians.”
Amanda of course related her conversation with Kenny to Krista, word for word, followed by a scathing verbal editorial concerning the utterly deficient level of intelligence possessed by Kenny. And, at her next opportunity, Amanda approached Krista’s dad and politely summarized her conversation with Kenny, adding that Krista might need a word of encouragement since she was understandably devastated.
Not knowing of Amanda’s conversation with her father, Krista approached him in her best faux casual manner. “Dad, why do some people think that Mormons aren’t Christian?”
Brad didn’t let on that he knew what had transpired. “Probably because of those verses in the book of Revelation.”
“Uh, which verses might those be?”
A Bible was quickly produced and the verses read.
“That’s pretty convincing, Dad. What do we say to that?”
“Well, for one thing, it says the same thing in Deuteronomy:
Ye shall not add unto the work which I command you, neither shall ye diminish ought from it . . . Deut. 4:2
“If that’s what it really meant it would discredit all the rest of the Bible past Deuteronomy.”
“Wow!”
“For another, the New Testament existed as only separate epistles and writings, each in a different location, for centuries. It was almost 300 years before someone came up with the idea to compile those writings into a single volume. So those verses can’t be referring to the New Testament per se; they can only refer to the book of Revelation itself, and we Mormons haven’t added to or taken one iota away from that particular book, have we?
“Besides, that was not even the last book written – for example, the gospel of John was written after Revelation! If those verses really referred to the New Testament as a whole, one of the four Gospels would have to be thrown out.”
There was a long pause as Krista absorbed what she was just then learning. The slow burn was becoming apparent: “OOH! That Kenny is SO in trouble!”
Thursday, December 2, 2010
UNTIL AFTER THE TRIAL OF YOUR FAITH
UNTIL AFTER THE TRIAL OF YOUR FAITH
… faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.
Ether 12:6 (emphasis added)
I was a volunteer basketball coach, and my team kept winning – everything. Local, region, state, and multi-state tournaments, teams older than us – everything. We got back from a national tournament, and the local high school coach asked how we did.
“Well, we got to play for the championship.”
“Second place?! In the nation?! With just local girls? Wow!”
I couldn’t walk into a gym anywhere in our four-county area, which I did quite frequently following my own daughters’ games, without being recognized and approached by coaches, players, and their parents, all wanting to talk. What a rush!
Coach Curtis approached me one day. “Coach, I’m stepping down. I’m moving on. I want you to apply for my position. What you’ve done with those girls is phenomenal. You could step into my shoes, and in a couple of years, with your present girls as the varsity team, you’d be playing for a state championship. Go for it. If you repeat what I’m about to say I’ll deny I ever said it, but I happen to know you’ll get my job if you apply.”
Wow! Is this what I was born to do? This was the gist of my thoughts for days, weeks even. I had installed a reworded version of the “For the Strength of Youth” pamphlet as our team’s code of conduct. Sometime during the season the moms would approach me and say, “Thanks, Coach. I’ve been trying to talk to my daughter about things like that, but she listens to you.” Dads, the few who were still part of their daughters’ lives, would say, “I like the way you coach; I’m glad my daughter’s on your team.” The players would playfully slug me on the shoulder and say, “That’s cool, Coach. Thanks.”
A good difference was being made in the players’ and their families’ lives. I was in a major mental rut at work, so launching a new career would constitute a huge burst of energy, optimism, and enthusiasm for me. Wouldn’t the greater good be served at this point by me becoming a high school girls’ basketball coach? I was, as they say, becoming a legend in my own mind.
I talked to my wife. I could sense fear entering her countenance as she began to realize this was not merely one of my myriad fleeting fantasies.
“I could retire early from CES, take the coaching/administrative job at the high school, and be experiencing a real sense of accomplishment the rest of my life, something I certainly am not getting from my present career right now!”
Try as I might, I could not seem to convince her.
I took it to the Lord. The thought came to my mind and to my heart: “What is your real motive, Bob – helping your players or basking in the honors of men?”
“The girls, of course – and their families. Young people in the Church will be taken care of, but no one’s taking care of these girls. I feel like I’m on a rescue mission.”
“So what’s your real motive – helping your players or the honors of men?”
“Didn’t I just answer that question?”
“Did you really?”
“Ok. Tell you what – I’ll give up coaching just as soon as something else enters my life that is just as fulfilling.”
“Give up coaching and something will.”
“But it needs to present itself first; then I’ll make the change.”
“You receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.”
That’s how it went. For six months. Around and around, like a media loop. At least I kept going back to the Source. To this day I stand all amazed at the patience He offered me.
Our team kept winning. Everything. But I did: after the local post-season tournament in mid-February, which we won, I turned the team over to the assistant coach.
Toward the end of the month I came home from work, having received an interesting phone call.
“Honey, how does College Station, Texas, home of the legendary Texas A&M Aggies, sound to you?”
It was the answer the Lord had been waiting to give me just as soon as I chose to muster the faith to accept His will.
… faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.
Ether 12:6 (emphasis added)
I was a volunteer basketball coach, and my team kept winning – everything. Local, region, state, and multi-state tournaments, teams older than us – everything. We got back from a national tournament, and the local high school coach asked how we did.
“Well, we got to play for the championship.”
“Second place?! In the nation?! With just local girls? Wow!”
I couldn’t walk into a gym anywhere in our four-county area, which I did quite frequently following my own daughters’ games, without being recognized and approached by coaches, players, and their parents, all wanting to talk. What a rush!
Coach Curtis approached me one day. “Coach, I’m stepping down. I’m moving on. I want you to apply for my position. What you’ve done with those girls is phenomenal. You could step into my shoes, and in a couple of years, with your present girls as the varsity team, you’d be playing for a state championship. Go for it. If you repeat what I’m about to say I’ll deny I ever said it, but I happen to know you’ll get my job if you apply.”
Wow! Is this what I was born to do? This was the gist of my thoughts for days, weeks even. I had installed a reworded version of the “For the Strength of Youth” pamphlet as our team’s code of conduct. Sometime during the season the moms would approach me and say, “Thanks, Coach. I’ve been trying to talk to my daughter about things like that, but she listens to you.” Dads, the few who were still part of their daughters’ lives, would say, “I like the way you coach; I’m glad my daughter’s on your team.” The players would playfully slug me on the shoulder and say, “That’s cool, Coach. Thanks.”
A good difference was being made in the players’ and their families’ lives. I was in a major mental rut at work, so launching a new career would constitute a huge burst of energy, optimism, and enthusiasm for me. Wouldn’t the greater good be served at this point by me becoming a high school girls’ basketball coach? I was, as they say, becoming a legend in my own mind.
I talked to my wife. I could sense fear entering her countenance as she began to realize this was not merely one of my myriad fleeting fantasies.
“I could retire early from CES, take the coaching/administrative job at the high school, and be experiencing a real sense of accomplishment the rest of my life, something I certainly am not getting from my present career right now!”
Try as I might, I could not seem to convince her.
I took it to the Lord. The thought came to my mind and to my heart: “What is your real motive, Bob – helping your players or basking in the honors of men?”
“The girls, of course – and their families. Young people in the Church will be taken care of, but no one’s taking care of these girls. I feel like I’m on a rescue mission.”
“So what’s your real motive – helping your players or the honors of men?”
“Didn’t I just answer that question?”
“Did you really?”
“Ok. Tell you what – I’ll give up coaching just as soon as something else enters my life that is just as fulfilling.”
“Give up coaching and something will.”
“But it needs to present itself first; then I’ll make the change.”
“You receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.”
That’s how it went. For six months. Around and around, like a media loop. At least I kept going back to the Source. To this day I stand all amazed at the patience He offered me.
Our team kept winning. Everything. But I did: after the local post-season tournament in mid-February, which we won, I turned the team over to the assistant coach.
Toward the end of the month I came home from work, having received an interesting phone call.
“Honey, how does College Station, Texas, home of the legendary Texas A&M Aggies, sound to you?”
It was the answer the Lord had been waiting to give me just as soon as I chose to muster the faith to accept His will.
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