I had an unanticipated joy in my life today.  A young man that I have known since he was a boy, experience an announcement of a life time today, to be a professional athlete.  As I listened to him talk to the press and answer questions with poise far beyond his years, I kept thinking of the boy I met so many years ago.  He was so quiet, he never made eye contact....those chocolate brown eyes told quite a story.

A reporter asked what the 10 year old boy would have said about today...I realized that I was the only person in the room that knew him as a 10 year old boy.  He would have said nothing, he didn't talk much, he didn't trust.  His eyes would have said all.

As he was leaving the room today, not really focusing on the people that were acknowledging him.  As he approached, he looked up and saw it was me.  A smile spread across his face and he held on a little longer to his embrace, I think acknowledging his journey that I had been a small part of, the one where he was just a boy.

A new life is just beginning, one I know that he will handle with maturity beyond his years. Today was a blessing.  I was able to see the boy become a man and be given opportunities that are so well deserved.

I wrote this many years ago to vent after someone wrote unkind things on a message board.  It never went anywhere but in my file. Seems appropriate with March Madness.

When AAU fans from the state of Indiana are worried about the “Elite” teams frightening away the small town teams, instead of criticizing those teams, maybe they should relate the stories of how hard those small teams have worked and where they are today. 

One of those “Elite” teams started playing together as 10Us. They played in a small gym, in northern Indiana, with one court and a one-man staff. There were 9 girls on the team that year and 3 were 9 years old. They weren’t selected or recruited; they just wanted to play basketball. Many times during that first year at tournaments, they barely had enough players to put a team on the court and they just hoped no one would foul out or get hurt. Over the course of that first year they learned a great deal about the game of basketball
but more importantly developed a passion for the game. They practiced hard, played hard and had their fair share of wins and losses. The season resulted in winning Regionals and moving on to play at State. At by the end of State, that team of 9 girls had the opportunity to play at Nationals. The trip to Orlando was an eye opening experience. Games were won and lost but the girls learned what they needed to achieve their goal and play at the next level.

The next fall, five of the young women returned to play as 11Us. The team was fortunate that year to add players to their team with the most important skill of all, the desire to play basketball. Again, that year like the first year, those players weren’t selected or
recruited, they just wanted to play. They practiced hard, played hard and had their fair share of wins and losses. Regionals came and they won. Were their games handed to them on a silver platter? No, they worked hard and played a couple of tough games. Now it was time for State. During the 1st game, the 11Us had a 20-point lead, lost the lead, lost the game and lost their chance to go to Nationals by a shot at the buzzer. With maturity beyond their years, they came back to win the rest of their games. They finished the season by playing in tournaments.

Now they are 12Us. The young women worked hard during the summer so that now the team is 13 strong. They continue to practice hard, play hard and have their fair share of wins and losses. It is truly amazing to be a witness to their progress and watch them mature into confident young women. What is their goal this year?…to go to Nationals. They are one step closer to the goal because they have practiced and played hard and were able to win Regionals.

Are these girls “Elite”? Yes, they are, not because they were chosen to play, because they have chosen basketball and have a passion for the game that makes them work hard on their skills to become better players and play together as a team. They are privileged, yes, not because they were selected, but because they are lucky enough to have coaches and family that allow them pursue their passion,  basketball.

Yesterday I returned to a place I called "home" for many years.   I was struck by the fact that something so familiar could be so different.  Streets that were once one-way are no longer, once vibrant local businesses are no longer and some have been replaced by the all american chains or just torn down entirely.  There was a time that when I went somewhere in town, to the store, to a restaurant, to the post office, to church...I would always see someone that I knew.  I went the entire day yesterday and did not run into any one that I knew.  

Whenever I come to town, my best friend (who is also a visitor) and I take the "long way" when ever we drive anywhere.  We drive past our favorite neighborhoods, our favorite houses, places that we would sneak a beverage when we weren't old enough.  We notice that the little quaint neighborhoods are still quaint, that kids still walk places, that our schools are still there, the same but different. We still feel the sense of home.

At a time in my life that I am in such transition, I wonder....why didn't I notice all the change.  Did I fully appreciate and value the people that have truly influenced my life?  Can I reclaim some of the things that have slipped from my grasp? Did I see the changes or was I just to busy or self absorbed?  I spent the day with a dear woman who is so special to me.  I was struck by how witty and funny she is.  Why did I never really notice it in all the years I've know her.

Today is a new day.  I can only move forward.  I can treasure the people that make up my soul and do everything in my power to keep them there.  My life is about the people that I love and care about.  It really is pretty simple.

I borrowed this blog.  I think it says so much.

What God Sees When He Looks At You
by Al Andrews

When I was 25 years old, I paid $15,000 for my first house. They wanted $20,000, but willingly took my offer.

If you saw the house, you’d know why I got a deal.

Quite a few window panes were broken out, the kitchen had only a sink (no cabinets), and the floor was lower in the middle of the house than at the edges. (This was due to the fact that the previous owners decided to cut the main floor joist in order to put in a heating vent).

Though the previous owners had departed, the house was inhabited by an extended family of mice and a small bat.

I named the bat Nicodemus because he only came out at night.

The house fit nicely into the neighborhood.

Mine was one of the more upscale places on the block. It was one of those neighborhoods caught between the interstate and progress,
There was “Sis” who lived next door and was married to a quiet alcoholic, Walter. Her mother, “Mama” lived across the street, and let me borrow her lawnmower if I’d mow her yard, too.

Mary, an operator with AT&T, lived on my left, and Everett her cab driver husband, who liked driving more than being at home. Mrs. Nichols, who regularly ran for mayor, lived a few doors down. (She consistently received only 8 votes, all from the neighbors).

Across the street in the apartments was Big Malcolm, who obviously had lots of friends, because each day, people visited him every fifteen minutes or so and left with small gift bags.

And then there was a woman whose name I never knew.She also lived in the apartments. Her weathered face bore the scars of a rough life, and her frail frame seemed unsteady. She too had frequent visitors—all men. We all knew what she did to make money, and we didn’t like her very much.

One night, my roommate, Eddie, and I were sitting out on the front porch, as good Southerners do. He began playing his guitar, and soon the neighbors had joined us for “Old Gospel Night.” Sis, Mama, Mary, Mary’s mom and a few other wonderful misfits were there, singing old hymns together.

We finally sang everyone’s favorite, “The Old Rugged Cross.”

We sang the first verse and the chorus, the second verse and the chorus, and then it happened. Toward the end of the chorus of the second verse, a figure started walking through the darkness toward the house.

It was her. The woman we’d shunned.She came up on the porch, nestled on the railing, and joined in on the third verse. And when we got to the chorus, she belted out a harmony that would have rivaled Vince Gill.

It was the most beautiful, lilting harmony I’ve ever heard.

And I’ll cling to the old rugged cross
Til my trophies at last I lay down.
I will cling to the old rugged cross.
And exchange it some day for a crown.

She sang the forth verse and the last chorus, and then wandered silently to her apartment.

I was silenced by my arrogance and judgment, Tears welled up in my eyes.

While I had been sneering at a prostitute, I had completely missed a deeper truth – that the woman across the street was once a little girl who had been in Sunday school, singing songs of hope and redemption. And somewhere she’d lost her way, and had been wandering a long, long time.

And all she wanted was to come home.I was reminded of a verse in the New Testament in Romans (4: 17). In essence it says, “He is a God who sees things that are not as though they were.” In other words, God has an imagination for people.

God sees beyond what is, to what could be.

Think about it – he didn’t see Abraham and Sarah as a childless couple. Rather he saw the parents of a new nation. And he didn’t see Paul as a killer of Christians, Moses as a stutterer, or Mary Magdalene as a whore. No, he imagined them as they would be.

Since that day on the porch, I’ve tried to adopt that mindset. I’d encourage you to adopt it too. Don’t believe what you see. That’s boring. Instead, develop an imagination, for yourself and for others. And by doing so, you’ll learn about mercy and grace.

You see, everyone.
​
Everyone has a song they need to sing, and they know it by heart.