Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Reprint of Sports Illustrated article about Jabari Parker, a remarkable young man for more than just his basketball skills
Jabari Parker Is...
THE BEST HIGH SCHOOL BASKETBALL PLAYER SINCE LEBRON JAMES, BUT THERE'S SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT TO HIM THAN INSTANT NBA STARDOM: HIS FAITH
JEFF BENEDICT
http://cnnsi.printthis.clickability.com/pt/cpt?expire=&title=THE+BEST+HIGH+SCHOOL+BASKETBALL+PLAYER+SINCE+LEBRON+JAMES,+-+05.21.12+-+SI+Vault&urlID=479016631&action=cpt&partnerID=289881&fb=Y&url=http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1198498/index.htm
Jake Flannigan filmed every in-state basketball game played by Chicago's Simeon Career Academy during the 2011--12 season. He saw Simeon's star forward, Jabari Parker, score 40 points one day and block 12 shots another. But his lasting impression of Jabari was formed when the camera was off. After a home game in which Jabari barely missed a triple double, Flannigan, a producer at Comcast SportsNet Chicago, waited outside the locker room for an interview. Jabari never appeared. He had used another exit to return to the court for the jayvee game and was behind the bench passing out water.
"The other varsity players were out in the hallway, talking to girls by the snack stand," says Flannigan. "The best player in the city was being the water boy for the jayvee. It's hard to root against a kid like that. He's on top of the world, but he's incredibly humble."
Humble isn't usually the first word that comes to mind when describing a star athlete, but it's the one most often used by people who have been around Jabari: the high school janitor, the hall monitors, the cheerleaders, even hard-bitten sports reporters and Chicago's famously combative mayor. What makes this all the more surprising is that Jabari, 17, is not just the best high school player in the state. He's the best high school player since LeBron James.
Last season the 6'9", 220-pound junior led Simeon to a 33--1 record and a third straight Class 4A state championship. In April he was chosen the Gatorade National Player of the Year, becoming only the fourth nonsenior to win the award (after James, Greg Oden and Brandon Knight). Three months earlier USA Basketball had named Jabari its male athlete of the year for 2011, succeeding 2010 winner Kevin Durant, an NBA All-Star. Jabari got that nod after leading the U.S. to the gold medal and being named MVP of the FIBA Americas U16 championship in Cancún, Mexico, last summer.
Jabari handles the ball like a point guard and has a crossover that makes defenders stumble. His first step has been compared to Oscar Robertson's. He can drain threes, yet he goes to the rim with power and uses his 6'11½" wingspan to block shots and snatch rebounds. (Last season he averaged 19 points, 9 rebounds, 4 assists and 3 blocks.) One NBA executive told SI that if Jabari were eligible for the draft, he would be a lottery pick in June.
Instead, Jabari is being pursued by all the top college programs—Duke, Kansas, Kentucky, Michigan State, North Carolina. Though he is a serious student with a 3.7 GPA, he is almost certain to leave college after his freshman season. But his fast track to the pros includes a potential detour. A life-altering decision awaits Jabari that few other athletes of his caliber have had to face.
The backpack that Jabari Parker takes everywhere contains all the expected items: a pair of Nikes, socks with the NBA logo, basketball shorts, T-shirts, Icy Hot gel, a couple of rolls of athletic prewrap, and an iPod loaded with rap and R&B. But there's also a paperback copy of The Book of Mormon. Jabari belongs to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. "Basketball is what I do," he says. "It's not who I am."
Jabari's father, Sonny, who played for the Warriors from 1976 to '82, is not a Mormon, but his wife, Lola, is a lifelong member of the church, and their four children have been raised as Mormons. Jabari's religion makes him a minority on two fronts. Mormons make up just 1.7% of the U.S. population. And of the 6.2 million Mormons in the U.S., only about 186,000, or 3%, are black. At Simeon, Jabari is one of only two Mormons out of 1,588 students.
"I used to have to explain to a lot of my friends that not all Mormons are from Utah, and not all Mormons are white," Sonny says. "There are a lot of misunderstandings about the Mormon faith."
Says Flannigan, "When people around Chicago first find out Jabari's a Mormon, they are shocked. But whatever doubt there is about who he is or what he represents is quickly brushed away by his character."
Rahm Emanuel agrees. "Jabari is unique," says Chicago's mayor, who met the Parkers while he was running for office last year and attends most of Simeon's home games. "His family has great values. Jabari has earned the right to be a role model for kids in Chicago. His character and seriousness of purpose are exceptional."
Jabari admits that he feels "a big responsibility to be a good example. I know there are a lot of eyes on me."
Eyes might be on him most of all at the end of his freshman year in college, when he has to decide whether he will declare for the NBA draft or—like thousands of other Mormon men who turn 19—embark on a two-year mission to spread the faith in the U.S. or a foreign country (page 67). In 2010 the president of the church, Thomas S. Monson, called missionary service "a priesthood duty—an obligation the Lord expects of us who have been given so very much."
Missionaries do not return home for two years. They aren't allowed to have a job, attend college classes or pursue other personal interests. In Jabari's case, that would mean a two-year hiatus from basketball and conditioning, possibly jeopardizing a brilliant NBA career.
Jabari wakes up each morning at five and says a simple prayer, thanking God for another day. By 5:30 three days a week he's off to church for Bible study. Jabari's bio on his Twitter page features a favorite maxim from his basketball idol John Wooden: You can't let praise or criticism get to you. It's a weakness to get caught up in either one. "I realize why I'm in the position I'm in right now," says Jabari. "It's not because of me. It's because of God."
The Parker family likes to say that Jabari, whose name is Swahili for valiant, got his basketball genes from his father and his religion from his mother. In 1981, while in Salt Lake City for a Warriors game against the Jazz, 6'7" Sonny Parker visited a mall in search of dress shirts and ran into Lola Finau, whom he asked for help. Lola, a student at Utah, escorted him to a tall men's clothing store. To thank her, Sonny gave Lola tickets to that night's game. The two exchanged phone numbers, and the next time Sonny was in town they went to lunch. That's when he popped the question.
"So, are you a Mormon?"
"Yes," she said, bracing for an inquiry about polygamy.
"That's really cool."
Lola was surprised. Sonny had no questions—or criticisms. He just thought it was interesting to meet a black Mormon. Lola explained that she was Polynesian and that her grandfather had been the second person ever baptized by Mormon missionaries on the island of Tonga.
Six years later, after Sonny retired from the NBA and Lola completed an 18-month mission for the church in Tonga, they married and settled in a blue-collar section on Chicago's South Side. There, for more than 20 years, Sonny has run a nonprofit that puts on basketball camps and sponsors teams for underprivileged kids. Although he never converted, he and his family have attended the Mormon church in Hyde Park for years. Jabari, like his three older siblings, was baptized there. But he learned more than religion at the church. He learned to play basketball. "That's where Jabari became Jabari," says his brother, Christian, 24. "His first dunk was in that building."
Like most Mormon churches, the one in Hyde Park has a small indoor basketball court. When Jabari was in grammar school, Christian started taking him there to play one-on-one. The Parkers lived in a neighborhood where gunfire and street crime were not unusual. "We couldn't play at our local playground," Jabari says.
Recognizing how much the Parker brothers loved basketball, the bishop slipped Christian a key to the church. At night, if there was no school the next day, Christian and Jabari would wait till their parents were asleep before going to the gym. "We'd play for three hours straight," Jabari says. "We were very competitive." So competitive that the brothers occasionally would bump and bang each other until Christian was too tired to drive home. Then they slept on couches in the lobby. Once, when the cleaning lady showed up at 6 a.m., the boys woke up and played a little more before going home.
"Jabari never wanted to leave the gym," says Christian. "I'd beat him game after game, because I was older and stronger. But he'd keep coming back."
The first time Lola discovered that her boys hadn't come home, she placed frantic unanswered calls to Christian's cellphone. Then she called a friend who lives across the street from the church, who told her that Christian's car was parked outside. From then on, whenever the boys went missing at night, she knew they were safe.
One night when Jabari was in middle school, he dunked for the first time. One of the rims in the church gym is still bent from the ensuing years of Jabari's dunks. The other rim is straight: That's where he honed his jump shot. "The church was our safe haven," says Christian.
But the gym had another significance for Jabari. "There were images of Christ everywhere," he says. "There was a special spirit there, because we were at a church. So we didn't do things there that we might do outside a church." Today one of those paintings that hung from the church's walls—one of Christ telling a rich man that in order to obtain eternal life he must sell all that he has and give to the poor—hangs in the Parkers' home.
In 2007, Simeon coach Robert Smith had the best team in Illinois. He also had the best player: senior point guard Derrick Rose. One afternoon Sonny Parker walked into the Simeon gym and introduced Jabari, then a 6'2" 11-year-old, to Smith. At Sonny's request Smith invited the boy to run with Rose and the rest of the varsity. "I let Jabari see what he would eventually be up against," Smith says. "He was very skilled and handled the ball extremely well. He did stuff that normal sixth-graders just don't do."
When it came time for Jabari to choose a high school, Smith got another visit from Sonny, informing him that Jabari was coming to Simeon. "I didn't recruit Jabari," says Smith. "The Parkers recruited me." Then Smith got an unexpected visit from Lola.
"Jabari is a student-athlete," she said. "That means he's a student first. Second, this young man is into his church. He's a devoted Mormon. I don't want any special privileges for my son. But he will go to church every Sunday."
Smith, who runs his team like a Division I program and routinely holds practices on Sunday, was floored. "I had never had a mother come in like that," he says. "I had never had a father come in like that either. But this has been the best relationship with a family I've ever had."
Jabari is the first player in the four-decade history of Simeon's program to start as a freshman. In the past three seasons he has led the Wolverines to a combined record of 87--12, including those three state titles. Yet coach and star are a bit of an odd couple. Jabari uses phrases from the Bible for motivation and avoids curse words. Smith drops f-bombs regularly in practice and during games. When asked about Smith's salty language, Jabari laughs. "It doesn't faze me," he says. "I love Coach Smith. He's someone I can talk to and trust. My previous coaches would say things they thought I wanted to hear. He tells it like it is and pushes me past my limit."
Smith's Sunday practices presented another potential conflict for Jabari. "On the Sabbath, I'm supposed to focus on Jesus and the resurrection," he says. "But if I don't practice, I let the team down. I don't want my teammates to think that I think I'm special. I want to be treated like everyone else. It would break bonds with my teammates if I took Sundays off." So Smith schedules Sunday practices in the afternoon, allowing Jabari to attend morning services. And when the team is on the road—Simeon plays a national schedule, with games in five states last season—Smith makes sure there is time on Sunday for Jabari to attend church.
"Jabari makes my job a lot easier as a coach," says Smith. "The best player sets the tone for the team. He's clean-cut. He prefers to remain out of the limelight. And he's the ultimate team player."
One of Smith's assistants, Marlo Finner, texts an inspirational message to Jabari every morning. "I grew up around gangs and crime, but I went to church with my mom," says Finner, a 6'6", 290-pound Chicagoan who played at Missouri and in Europe. "Jabari and I have a lot in common. He knows that if you want to be successful you have to look for guidance from above. I tell kids you can follow God and still be tough-minded. Look at Jabari."
After Simeon won the state title in 2011, Smith kept his team overnight in a Peoria hotel. The plan was to celebrate and then make the three-hour drive back to Chicago in the morning, which was a Sunday. Lola informed Smith that Jabari would leave before that because he had a church commitment in Chicago. Smith and the other players understood. "Our relationship is why we are so good on the court," Jabari says of his teammates. "Our bond doesn't break. So I wanted to stay the night and celebrate. But I knew I had to do what was important." What Jabari didn't tell the others was that the following morning he was scheduled to become a priest. Mormon boys become priests at 16, and his 16th birthday had coincided with the state tournament.
One of the primary responsibilities of a Mormon priest is to handle the sacrament every Sunday. Priests also perform baptisms. Jabari has done both, but he has spent most of his time as a priest accompanying Bishop Joe Cannon on monthly visits to the sick, the poor and the elderly—an assignment designed to teach young men the importance of service and self-sacrifice. Mormons don't have a professional clergy, and Cannon, a 39-year-old Chicago Law School graduate who owns a specialty lumber company in Idaho, Indiana and Utah, has been Jabari's bishop for most of his teen years.
In December 2010, Jabari went with Cannon to the Waterfront Terrace nursing home on Lake Michigan. An elderly woman from Arkansas was living there. Lonely and dying, she asked Parker and Cannon to sing her some Christmas carols. "I knew it would make her day," Jabari says. "Her family wasn't around." As Jabari sang Silent Night, it was all Cannon could do to hold back tears.
Sonny gets anxious watching his son in high-pressure games, so he didn't go to Peoria to see Jabari win state championships as a freshman and sophomore. But when Simeon played for its third straight title in March, against Chicago's Proviso East, ranked No. 2 in Illinois with a 32--0 record, Sonny was in the stands. Fans sat on the edges of their seats as Simeon clung to a two-point lead with 3:05 remaining. Then an official lost a shoe as he ran to signal a blocking foul. With the ref at the scorer's table, Jabari jogged to center court, knelt and picked up the shoe and some notes that had fallen from the ref's pocket. When the official turned from the scorer's table to return to the floor, Jabari handed him his shoe.
The next three minutes belonged to Simeon. And with 15 seconds remaining and Simeon up by five, Jabari threw down a two-handed dunk to seal the game. Fans stormed the court, and Jabari found Sonny. The two tallest men in the arena embraced. "I'm so proud of you, son," Sonny said. A couple of weeks later, after Kentucky beat Kansas for the NCAA championship, Sonny called John Calipari to congratulate him. Before hanging up, Calipari said, "I want to coach Jabari."
Anthony Davis and Derrick Rose are the two biggest talents to come out of Chicago in the past five years. Each spent one year under Calipari before going pro. "Jabari Parker is a once-in-a-generation player," says Daniel Poneman, a talent evaluator for the website Five-Star Basketball. "His basketball IQ right now might be better than LeBron James's [at 17]. He's figured out how to dominate a game without scoring. He doesn't care if he scores two points or 50 as long as his team wins. And I've never seen anyone who wants to win as bad as this kid."
This fall Jabari will probably announce which college he will attend. But an even bigger decision awaits in the spring of 2014: whether to declare for the NBA draft and become the first African-American Mormon in the league or to serve as a missionary and walk away from basketball for two years.
Only one other Mormon athlete aroused anything close to the expectations Parker has elicited at such a young age. Danny Ainge chose not to serve a mission at 19. He went on to become the nation's top basketball player at BYU, a baseball star who would play 221 games for the Blue Jays, and a two-time NBA champion with the Celtics. "I don't believe a mission is for everybody," says Ainge, now president of the Celtics (with whom he won a third title as an executive) and a Mormon bishop in Boston. "I believe every young man should prepare for a mission, but I don't believe every young man should serve a mission."
Jabari has great respect for Ainge, but he also admires his brother Christian, who served a mission in Atlanta after playing basketball at BYU-Hawaii. Christian says going on a mission was the best decision he ever made. "I told Jabari that if you have a desire to serve God, there is nothing that can replace a mission," he says.
"When he came home from his mission, we talked a lot about it," Jabari says. "I want to go. But I have doubts. The NBA is the biggest dream of basketball players, and I'm no different."
Monday, April 2, 2012
Easter Story
It was a beautiful Easter Sunday morning, and the 8 year old Sunday school children were fidgeting in their seats. The teacher had prepared an Easter lesson, but suddenly had the inspiration to do something entirely differently. She had brought some plastic Easter eggs she had planned to give the children after the lesson was over. She slipped out of the classroom and quickly removed the jellybeans (she would share them with the children later).
She came back into the classroom to find a little bit of pandemonium going on. Bobby, a young man born with Down’s syndrome, was crying because one of the girls had made fun of him because his mother had made him wear a tie to church, and he was the only boy in the class wearing a tie. Unfortunately, this was a common occurrence in their class because Bobby was mildly retarded, and the children found unkind ways to tease him, and to point out the differences between him and the rest of the class.
After wiping away Bobby’s tears, and calming the class down, the teacher told the class that, since it was such a bright sunny day, they were going to go outside in a few minutes and enjoy what nature had to offer. First, she took a few short minutes to tell them the story of resurrection morning, and what had occurred around Jerusalem so many years They talked about the three days before the resurrection, being careful to omit the more gruesome details of what occurred at Gethsemane and at Golgotha, and centered most of her remarks on the glorious event where the three women returned to find Jesus missing from the tomb.
She then gave each of the eight year olds a brightly covered plastic egg, and explained that they were going outside for a short nature walk. Each child was to find something to put inside their egg that reminded them of Easter, just as she had just related to them. Then they would come back into their classroom, and each child would open their egg, and tell what they found, and lastly why it reminded them of the Easter story
After some minor problems with disputes over who had the best colored egg, and some trying to trade for a better color, out they went. The children spread out over the grassy area that surrounded the church building. One by one they ran excitedly back to the teacher to let her know that they had selected the perfect item to tell about, except for Bobby who did finally return to the group. When they all finished, they went back to the classroom for what the teacher believed would be a “guided discovery” lesson the children would not soon forget about Easter. One by one, they opened their eggs. One had a newly opened leaf inside, and said it was about newly formed life. One had parts of a broken robin’s egg and said the baby robin went away just like Jesus did. Each child had a different item and related quite good reasons as to why their item was a representation of what happened on resurrection day. As each child made their short presentation, the teacher beamed with pride. Her sudden inspiration had produced the exact effect she had hoped for. The children had internalized the concept of Easter, at least as much as an eight year old could.
Bobby was the last child to open his egg, as he was used to being last at almost everything else. He opened his egg with a big grin. The teacher gasped when she saw that there was nothing at all in the plastic egg. She thought to herself: “Why hadn’t I just given the lesson I had prepared from the lesson manual”. At least, she should have made sure Bobby found something to put in his egg. What was she thinking?
The other children began to giggle and snicker, and the room then started to break down into an argument as to who had selected the very best thing to put in their egg. Bobby watched this go on for a minute or so, and then he spoke up with a loud voice, as he sometimes would do. He said: “Teacher, teacher”. He paused for a moment, as the children heard his loud voice; they stopped their arguing, and turned to look at him. Bobby then smiled again, held up his empty plastic egg, and continued, this time in a much softer voice: “Teacher, the tomb was empty”.
It was a beautiful Easter Sunday morning, and the 8 year old Sunday school children were fidgeting in their seats. The teacher had prepared an Easter lesson, but suddenly had the inspiration to do something entirely differently. She had brought some plastic Easter eggs she had planned to give the children after the lesson was over. She slipped out of the classroom and quickly removed the jellybeans (she would share them with the children later).
She came back into the classroom to find a little bit of pandemonium going on. Bobby, a young man born with Down’s syndrome, was crying because one of the girls had made fun of him because his mother had made him wear a tie to church, and he was the only boy in the class wearing a tie. Unfortunately, this was a common occurrence in their class because Bobby was mildly retarded, and the children found unkind ways to tease him, and to point out the differences between him and the rest of the class.
After wiping away Bobby’s tears, and calming the class down, the teacher told the class that, since it was such a bright sunny day, they were going to go outside in a few minutes and enjoy what nature had to offer. First, she took a few short minutes to tell them the story of resurrection morning, and what had occurred around Jerusalem so many years They talked about the three days before the resurrection, being careful to omit the more gruesome details of what occurred at Gethsemane and at Golgotha, and centered most of her remarks on the glorious event where the three women returned to find Jesus missing from the tomb.
She then gave each of the eight year olds a brightly covered plastic egg, and explained that they were going outside for a short nature walk. Each child was to find something to put inside their egg that reminded them of Easter, just as she had just related to them. Then they would come back into their classroom, and each child would open their egg, and tell what they found, and lastly why it reminded them of the Easter story
After some minor problems with disputes over who had the best colored egg, and some trying to trade for a better color, out they went. The children spread out over the grassy area that surrounded the church building. One by one they ran excitedly back to the teacher to let her know that they had selected the perfect item to tell about, except for Bobby who did finally return to the group. When they all finished, they went back to the classroom for what the teacher believed would be a “guided discovery” lesson the children would not soon forget about Easter. One by one, they opened their eggs. One had a newly opened leaf inside, and said it was about newly formed life. One had parts of a broken robin’s egg and said the baby robin went away just like Jesus did. Each child had a different item and related quite good reasons as to why their item was a representation of what happened on resurrection day. As each child made their short presentation, the teacher beamed with pride. Her sudden inspiration had produced the exact effect she had hoped for. The children had internalized the concept of Easter, at least as much as an eight year old could.
Bobby was the last child to open his egg, as he was used to being last at almost everything else. He opened his egg with a big grin. The teacher gasped when she saw that there was nothing at all in the plastic egg. She thought to herself: “Why hadn’t I just given the lesson I had prepared from the lesson manual”. At least, she should have made sure Bobby found something to put in his egg. What was she thinking?
The other children began to giggle and snicker, and the room then started to break down into an argument as to who had selected the very best thing to put in their egg. Bobby watched this go on for a minute or so, and then he spoke up with a loud voice, as he sometimes would do. He said: “Teacher, teacher”. He paused for a moment, as the children heard his loud voice; they stopped their arguing, and turned to look at him. Bobby then smiled again, held up his empty plastic egg, and continued, this time in a much softer voice: “Teacher, the tomb was empty”.
It was a beautiful Easter Sunday morning, and the 8 year old Sunday school children were fidgeting in their seats. The teacher had prepared an Easter lesson, but suddenly had the inspiration to do something entirely differently. She had brought some plastic Easter eggs she had planned to give the children after the lesson was over. She slipped out of the classroom and quickly removed the jellybeans (she would share them with the children later).
She came back into the classroom to find a little bit of pandemonium going on. Bobby, a young man born with Down’s syndrome, was crying because one of the girls had made fun of him because his mother had made him wear a tie to church, and he was the only boy in the class wearing a tie. Unfortunately, this was a common occurrence in their class because Bobby was mildly retarded, and the children found unkind ways to tease him, and to point out the differences between him and the rest of the class.
After wiping away Bobby’s tears, and calming the class down, the teacher told the class that, since it was such a bright sunny day, they were going to go outside in a few minutes and enjoy what nature had to offer. First, she took a few short minutes to tell them the story of resurrection morning, and what had occurred around Jerusalem so many years They talked about the three days before the resurrection, being careful to omit the more gruesome details of what occurred at Gethsemane and at Golgotha, and centered most of her remarks on the glorious event where the three women returned to find Jesus missing from the tomb.
She then gave each of the eight year olds a brightly covered plastic egg, and explained that they were going outside for a short nature walk. Each child was to find something to put inside their egg that reminded them of Easter, just as she had just related to them. Then they would come back into their classroom, and each child would open their egg, and tell what they found, and lastly why it reminded them of the Easter story
After some minor problems with disputes over who had the best colored egg, and some trying to trade for a better color, out they went. The children spread out over the grassy area that surrounded the church building. One by one they ran excitedly back to the teacher to let her know that they had selected the perfect item to tell about, except for Bobby who did finally return to the group. When they all finished, they went back to the classroom for what the teacher believed would be a “guided discovery” lesson the children would not soon forget about Easter. One by one, they opened their eggs. One had a newly opened leaf inside, and said it was about newly formed life. One had parts of a broken robin’s egg and said the baby robin went away just like Jesus did. Each child had a different item and related quite good reasons as to why their item was a representation of what happened on resurrection day. As each child made their short presentation, the teacher beamed with pride. Her sudden inspiration had produced the exact effect she had hoped for. The children had internalized the concept of Easter, at least as much as an eight year old could.
Bobby was the last child to open his egg, as he was used to being last at almost everything else. He opened his egg with a big grin. The teacher gasped when she saw that there was nothing at all in the plastic egg. She thought to herself: “Why hadn’t I just given the lesson I had prepared from the lesson manual”. At least, she should have made sure Bobby found something to put in his egg. What was she thinking?
The other children began to giggle and snicker, and the room then started to break down into an argument as to who had selected the very best thing to put in their egg. Bobby watched this go on for a minute or so, and then he spoke up with a loud voice, as he sometimes would do. He said: “Teacher, teacher”. He paused for a moment, as the children heard his loud voice; they stopped their arguing, and turned to look at him. Bobby then smiled again, held up his empty plastic egg, and continued, this time in a much softer voice: “Teacher, the tomb was empty”
She came back into the classroom to find a little bit of pandemonium going on. Bobby, a young man born with Down’s syndrome, was crying because one of the girls had made fun of him because his mother had made him wear a tie to church, and he was the only boy in the class wearing a tie. Unfortunately, this was a common occurrence in their class because Bobby was mildly retarded, and the children found unkind ways to tease him, and to point out the differences between him and the rest of the class.
After wiping away Bobby’s tears, and calming the class down, the teacher told the class that, since it was such a bright sunny day, they were going to go outside in a few minutes and enjoy what nature had to offer. First, she took a few short minutes to tell them the story of resurrection morning, and what had occurred around Jerusalem so many years They talked about the three days before the resurrection, being careful to omit the more gruesome details of what occurred at Gethsemane and at Golgotha, and centered most of her remarks on the glorious event where the three women returned to find Jesus missing from the tomb.
She then gave each of the eight year olds a brightly covered plastic egg, and explained that they were going outside for a short nature walk. Each child was to find something to put inside their egg that reminded them of Easter, just as she had just related to them. Then they would come back into their classroom, and each child would open their egg, and tell what they found, and lastly why it reminded them of the Easter story
After some minor problems with disputes over who had the best colored egg, and some trying to trade for a better color, out they went. The children spread out over the grassy area that surrounded the church building. One by one they ran excitedly back to the teacher to let her know that they had selected the perfect item to tell about, except for Bobby who did finally return to the group. When they all finished, they went back to the classroom for what the teacher believed would be a “guided discovery” lesson the children would not soon forget about Easter. One by one, they opened their eggs. One had a newly opened leaf inside, and said it was about newly formed life. One had parts of a broken robin’s egg and said the baby robin went away just like Jesus did. Each child had a different item and related quite good reasons as to why their item was a representation of what happened on resurrection day. As each child made their short presentation, the teacher beamed with pride. Her sudden inspiration had produced the exact effect she had hoped for. The children had internalized the concept of Easter, at least as much as an eight year old could.
Bobby was the last child to open his egg, as he was used to being last at almost everything else. He opened his egg with a big grin. The teacher gasped when she saw that there was nothing at all in the plastic egg. She thought to herself: “Why hadn’t I just given the lesson I had prepared from the lesson manual”. At least, she should have made sure Bobby found something to put in his egg. What was she thinking?
The other children began to giggle and snicker, and the room then started to break down into an argument as to who had selected the very best thing to put in their egg. Bobby watched this go on for a minute or so, and then he spoke up with a loud voice, as he sometimes would do. He said: “Teacher, teacher”. He paused for a moment, as the children heard his loud voice; they stopped their arguing, and turned to look at him. Bobby then smiled again, held up his empty plastic egg, and continued, this time in a much softer voice: “Teacher, the tomb was empty”.
It was a beautiful Easter Sunday morning, and the 8 year old Sunday school children were fidgeting in their seats. The teacher had prepared an Easter lesson, but suddenly had the inspiration to do something entirely differently. She had brought some plastic Easter eggs she had planned to give the children after the lesson was over. She slipped out of the classroom and quickly removed the jellybeans (she would share them with the children later).
She came back into the classroom to find a little bit of pandemonium going on. Bobby, a young man born with Down’s syndrome, was crying because one of the girls had made fun of him because his mother had made him wear a tie to church, and he was the only boy in the class wearing a tie. Unfortunately, this was a common occurrence in their class because Bobby was mildly retarded, and the children found unkind ways to tease him, and to point out the differences between him and the rest of the class.
After wiping away Bobby’s tears, and calming the class down, the teacher told the class that, since it was such a bright sunny day, they were going to go outside in a few minutes and enjoy what nature had to offer. First, she took a few short minutes to tell them the story of resurrection morning, and what had occurred around Jerusalem so many years They talked about the three days before the resurrection, being careful to omit the more gruesome details of what occurred at Gethsemane and at Golgotha, and centered most of her remarks on the glorious event where the three women returned to find Jesus missing from the tomb.
She then gave each of the eight year olds a brightly covered plastic egg, and explained that they were going outside for a short nature walk. Each child was to find something to put inside their egg that reminded them of Easter, just as she had just related to them. Then they would come back into their classroom, and each child would open their egg, and tell what they found, and lastly why it reminded them of the Easter story
After some minor problems with disputes over who had the best colored egg, and some trying to trade for a better color, out they went. The children spread out over the grassy area that surrounded the church building. One by one they ran excitedly back to the teacher to let her know that they had selected the perfect item to tell about, except for Bobby who did finally return to the group. When they all finished, they went back to the classroom for what the teacher believed would be a “guided discovery” lesson the children would not soon forget about Easter. One by one, they opened their eggs. One had a newly opened leaf inside, and said it was about newly formed life. One had parts of a broken robin’s egg and said the baby robin went away just like Jesus did. Each child had a different item and related quite good reasons as to why their item was a representation of what happened on resurrection day. As each child made their short presentation, the teacher beamed with pride. Her sudden inspiration had produced the exact effect she had hoped for. The children had internalized the concept of Easter, at least as much as an eight year old could.
Bobby was the last child to open his egg, as he was used to being last at almost everything else. He opened his egg with a big grin. The teacher gasped when she saw that there was nothing at all in the plastic egg. She thought to herself: “Why hadn’t I just given the lesson I had prepared from the lesson manual”. At least, she should have made sure Bobby found something to put in his egg. What was she thinking?
The other children began to giggle and snicker, and the room then started to break down into an argument as to who had selected the very best thing to put in their egg. Bobby watched this go on for a minute or so, and then he spoke up with a loud voice, as he sometimes would do. He said: “Teacher, teacher”. He paused for a moment, as the children heard his loud voice; they stopped their arguing, and turned to look at him. Bobby then smiled again, held up his empty plastic egg, and continued, this time in a much softer voice: “Teacher, the tomb was empty”.
It was a beautiful Easter Sunday morning, and the 8 year old Sunday school children were fidgeting in their seats. The teacher had prepared an Easter lesson, but suddenly had the inspiration to do something entirely differently. She had brought some plastic Easter eggs she had planned to give the children after the lesson was over. She slipped out of the classroom and quickly removed the jellybeans (she would share them with the children later).
She came back into the classroom to find a little bit of pandemonium going on. Bobby, a young man born with Down’s syndrome, was crying because one of the girls had made fun of him because his mother had made him wear a tie to church, and he was the only boy in the class wearing a tie. Unfortunately, this was a common occurrence in their class because Bobby was mildly retarded, and the children found unkind ways to tease him, and to point out the differences between him and the rest of the class.
After wiping away Bobby’s tears, and calming the class down, the teacher told the class that, since it was such a bright sunny day, they were going to go outside in a few minutes and enjoy what nature had to offer. First, she took a few short minutes to tell them the story of resurrection morning, and what had occurred around Jerusalem so many years They talked about the three days before the resurrection, being careful to omit the more gruesome details of what occurred at Gethsemane and at Golgotha, and centered most of her remarks on the glorious event where the three women returned to find Jesus missing from the tomb.
She then gave each of the eight year olds a brightly covered plastic egg, and explained that they were going outside for a short nature walk. Each child was to find something to put inside their egg that reminded them of Easter, just as she had just related to them. Then they would come back into their classroom, and each child would open their egg, and tell what they found, and lastly why it reminded them of the Easter story
After some minor problems with disputes over who had the best colored egg, and some trying to trade for a better color, out they went. The children spread out over the grassy area that surrounded the church building. One by one they ran excitedly back to the teacher to let her know that they had selected the perfect item to tell about, except for Bobby who did finally return to the group. When they all finished, they went back to the classroom for what the teacher believed would be a “guided discovery” lesson the children would not soon forget about Easter. One by one, they opened their eggs. One had a newly opened leaf inside, and said it was about newly formed life. One had parts of a broken robin’s egg and said the baby robin went away just like Jesus did. Each child had a different item and related quite good reasons as to why their item was a representation of what happened on resurrection day. As each child made their short presentation, the teacher beamed with pride. Her sudden inspiration had produced the exact effect she had hoped for. The children had internalized the concept of Easter, at least as much as an eight year old could.
Bobby was the last child to open his egg, as he was used to being last at almost everything else. He opened his egg with a big grin. The teacher gasped when she saw that there was nothing at all in the plastic egg. She thought to herself: “Why hadn’t I just given the lesson I had prepared from the lesson manual”. At least, she should have made sure Bobby found something to put in his egg. What was she thinking?
The other children began to giggle and snicker, and the room then started to break down into an argument as to who had selected the very best thing to put in their egg. Bobby watched this go on for a minute or so, and then he spoke up with a loud voice, as he sometimes would do. He said: “Teacher, teacher”. He paused for a moment, as the children heard his loud voice; they stopped their arguing, and turned to look at him. Bobby then smiled again, held up his empty plastic egg, and continued, this time in a much softer voice: “Teacher, the tomb was empty”
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
The old Cracked Pot
An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck. One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was
perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.
At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house,
the cracked pot arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman
bringing home only one and a half pots of water. Of course,
the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the
poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection and
miserable that it could only do half of what it had been
made to do.
After 2 years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it
spoke to the woman one day by the stream. "I am ashamed
of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to
leak out all the way back to your house." The old woman
smiled, "Did you notice that there are flowers on your side
of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's
because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted
flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while
we walk back, you water them. For two years I have been
able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table.
Without you being just the way you are, there would not be
this beauty to grace my house."
Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it's the cracks and
flaws we each have that make our lives together so very
interesting and rewarding. You've just got to take each
person for what they are and; look for the good in them.
So, to all of my crackpot friends, thank you for watering
the flowers in my life.
here is a version of the story on youtube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NEl4KW1DwP8&feature=related
perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.
At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house,
the cracked pot arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman
bringing home only one and a half pots of water. Of course,
the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the
poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection and
miserable that it could only do half of what it had been
made to do.
After 2 years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it
spoke to the woman one day by the stream. "I am ashamed
of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to
leak out all the way back to your house." The old woman
smiled, "Did you notice that there are flowers on your side
of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's
because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted
flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while
we walk back, you water them. For two years I have been
able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table.
Without you being just the way you are, there would not be
this beauty to grace my house."
Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it's the cracks and
flaws we each have that make our lives together so very
interesting and rewarding. You've just got to take each
person for what they are and; look for the good in them.
So, to all of my crackpot friends, thank you for watering
the flowers in my life.
here is a version of the story on youtube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NEl4KW1DwP8&feature=related
Monday, February 20, 2012
Addictions by Vai Sikahema
No one is immune from the dangers of drug addiction
By Vai Sikahema , For the Deseret News
Published: Friday, Feb. 17 2012 2:11 p.m. MST
My wife and I were at a girls camp fundraiser dinner for the young women in our LDS ward Saturday night when one of my daughter's friends blurted out, "Oh my gosh, Whitney Houston died!" She got the news on her smartphone.
Houston's passing over the weekend, with bottles of prescription drugs allegedly found in her hotel room, was followed by news Wednesday of a drug bust at Texas Christian University that involved 17 students, including four members of the football team.
For most of my life, I've been around addiction.
My grandfather, after whom I'm named and was very close, was an alcoholic.
I had BYU and NFL teammates who were drug addicts. I'll use their names because their addiction is a matter of public record.
After I gave LaVell Edwards a verbal commitment that I'd accept a scholarship to BYU, he asked me to use my influence on a number of fellow Arizonans whom BYU was recruiting who had yet to make a commitment but whom BYU wanted badly. Among them was a speedy wide receiver from Tempe High named Scott Norberg, who ultimately signed with Nebraska. The other was a tall, skinny and very athletic linebacker from Mountain View High named Todd Shell, who became one of BYU's best defensive players in the Edwards era. Norberg would leave Nebraska after his freshman year to serve a mission in Argentina, before transferring to BYU upon his return.
I don't know when and how they developed their drug problems, but they did and it ultimately cost Norberg his life and Shell a promising coaching career. Norberg died in a Phoenix jail in 1996 at the hands of 14 guards — a case Phoenix authorities had to settle out of court for more than $8 million in 1999. Shell resigned as head coach of the Arena Football League's Arizona Rattlers in 2005 after his arrest on a drug charge.
When I was drafted by the NFL's St. Louis Cardinals in 1986, I had no idea the team had one of the worst drug problems in the NFL and, according to some experts, was one reason they were perennial underachievers. The year before I arrived two players, linebacker EJ Junior and fullback Earl Ferrell, were suspended for failing the league's substance abuse program.
Oblivious to any of this, I was assigned to be Ferrell's roommate my rookie year and through my first four years with the Cardinals. I later learned the team had done an extensive search of my background and determined since I was a teetotaling Mormon and conveniently a fellow running back, I was a safe bet to be Ferrell's roommate.
Earl Ferrell and I became extremely close and he tried to teach me of his addiction in ways I might understand. One night as we lay in our beds staring at the ceiling unable to sleep, I asked him what it was like to be addicted to cocaine. I'll never forget his answer.
"Vai," he said. "If you put me in a room with two tables, one had an ounce of coke and the other was stacked with $100 dollar bills to the ceiling, I'd never see the money."
Ferrell's vivid description of his drug habit became a self-fulfilling prophecy. The following season Ferrell failed his third and final drug test, was summarily dismissed from the team and given a lifetime ban from the NFL. It happened mere weeks after he signed a multiyear, multimillion-dollar deal. He was right. He never saw the money.
Most people in Arizona are familiar with the story of another close Cardinals teammate named Luis Sharpe.
Born in Cuba, Sharpe's parents immigrated to the States just before the Castro regime took power and moved to Detroit where they worked in General Motors' factories. Luis went to UCLA, where he not only played but studied — graduating in political science. He was the Cardinals' first pick in 1982.
He was just reaching his peak four years later when I arrived and we went to a couple of Pro Bowls together. He was our union rep, über-smart and was so thoughtful and articulate that the media flocked to him. His wife, Kathy, and my wife, Keala, were close and our children had play dates together.
But beneath the facade was a cocaine habit that destroyed his marriage, his family and his life. Luis was shot twice while on drug binges, his daughter was murdered while he was in prison, Kathy divorced him, he lost his fortune, and on and on. His downward spiral would, in my opinion, rival the great tragedies in modern sports including O.J. Simpson and Lawrence Taylor.
As his life was unraveling, several teammates devised a plan to intervene and get him help. They literally "jumped" him, handcuffed him, put him in a van and drove to Palm Springs and admitted him to the Betty Ford Clinic. Obviously, it wasn't a sophisticated or well thought-out plan but it was done out of their love and concern for him.
The next day, Luis checked himself out, hailed a taxi and paid the cabbie nearly $600 to drive him back to Phoenix. It's crazy, I know, but that's what drug addicts do.
As a former NFL player, I've been privy to some of the league's ongoing substance abuse programs and have lectured teams on behalf of the NFL on managing the transition from player to civilian life.
As a bishop in the LDS Church, I dealt with addicts of all kinds: pornography, alcohol, tobacco, food, sex, illicit and prescription drugs.
In my experience, the Church's 12-step addiction recovery program sponsored by LDS Family Services is the best program that exists — better than the NFL's, NBA's, MLB's, NHL's, even than the more renowned Alcoholics Anonymous, though AA has done and is doing tremendous work.
One reason is it's based on President Boyd K. Packer's oft-quoted statement: "The study of the doctrines of the gospel will improve behavior quicker than talking about behavior will improve behavior." The Church's addiction recovery program incorporates the principles of honesty, faith, humility, trust in God, love for self and others and draws participants to Christ and His infinite Atonement. It is powerful and miraculous.
If you have a loved one who suffers from addiction, please seek it out.
It's never too late.
Copyright 2012, Deseret News Publishing Company
By Vai Sikahema , For the Deseret News
Published: Friday, Feb. 17 2012 2:11 p.m. MST
My wife and I were at a girls camp fundraiser dinner for the young women in our LDS ward Saturday night when one of my daughter's friends blurted out, "Oh my gosh, Whitney Houston died!" She got the news on her smartphone.
Houston's passing over the weekend, with bottles of prescription drugs allegedly found in her hotel room, was followed by news Wednesday of a drug bust at Texas Christian University that involved 17 students, including four members of the football team.
For most of my life, I've been around addiction.
My grandfather, after whom I'm named and was very close, was an alcoholic.
I had BYU and NFL teammates who were drug addicts. I'll use their names because their addiction is a matter of public record.
After I gave LaVell Edwards a verbal commitment that I'd accept a scholarship to BYU, he asked me to use my influence on a number of fellow Arizonans whom BYU was recruiting who had yet to make a commitment but whom BYU wanted badly. Among them was a speedy wide receiver from Tempe High named Scott Norberg, who ultimately signed with Nebraska. The other was a tall, skinny and very athletic linebacker from Mountain View High named Todd Shell, who became one of BYU's best defensive players in the Edwards era. Norberg would leave Nebraska after his freshman year to serve a mission in Argentina, before transferring to BYU upon his return.
I don't know when and how they developed their drug problems, but they did and it ultimately cost Norberg his life and Shell a promising coaching career. Norberg died in a Phoenix jail in 1996 at the hands of 14 guards — a case Phoenix authorities had to settle out of court for more than $8 million in 1999. Shell resigned as head coach of the Arena Football League's Arizona Rattlers in 2005 after his arrest on a drug charge.
When I was drafted by the NFL's St. Louis Cardinals in 1986, I had no idea the team had one of the worst drug problems in the NFL and, according to some experts, was one reason they were perennial underachievers. The year before I arrived two players, linebacker EJ Junior and fullback Earl Ferrell, were suspended for failing the league's substance abuse program.
Oblivious to any of this, I was assigned to be Ferrell's roommate my rookie year and through my first four years with the Cardinals. I later learned the team had done an extensive search of my background and determined since I was a teetotaling Mormon and conveniently a fellow running back, I was a safe bet to be Ferrell's roommate.
Earl Ferrell and I became extremely close and he tried to teach me of his addiction in ways I might understand. One night as we lay in our beds staring at the ceiling unable to sleep, I asked him what it was like to be addicted to cocaine. I'll never forget his answer.
"Vai," he said. "If you put me in a room with two tables, one had an ounce of coke and the other was stacked with $100 dollar bills to the ceiling, I'd never see the money."
Ferrell's vivid description of his drug habit became a self-fulfilling prophecy. The following season Ferrell failed his third and final drug test, was summarily dismissed from the team and given a lifetime ban from the NFL. It happened mere weeks after he signed a multiyear, multimillion-dollar deal. He was right. He never saw the money.
Most people in Arizona are familiar with the story of another close Cardinals teammate named Luis Sharpe.
Born in Cuba, Sharpe's parents immigrated to the States just before the Castro regime took power and moved to Detroit where they worked in General Motors' factories. Luis went to UCLA, where he not only played but studied — graduating in political science. He was the Cardinals' first pick in 1982.
He was just reaching his peak four years later when I arrived and we went to a couple of Pro Bowls together. He was our union rep, über-smart and was so thoughtful and articulate that the media flocked to him. His wife, Kathy, and my wife, Keala, were close and our children had play dates together.
But beneath the facade was a cocaine habit that destroyed his marriage, his family and his life. Luis was shot twice while on drug binges, his daughter was murdered while he was in prison, Kathy divorced him, he lost his fortune, and on and on. His downward spiral would, in my opinion, rival the great tragedies in modern sports including O.J. Simpson and Lawrence Taylor.
As his life was unraveling, several teammates devised a plan to intervene and get him help. They literally "jumped" him, handcuffed him, put him in a van and drove to Palm Springs and admitted him to the Betty Ford Clinic. Obviously, it wasn't a sophisticated or well thought-out plan but it was done out of their love and concern for him.
The next day, Luis checked himself out, hailed a taxi and paid the cabbie nearly $600 to drive him back to Phoenix. It's crazy, I know, but that's what drug addicts do.
As a former NFL player, I've been privy to some of the league's ongoing substance abuse programs and have lectured teams on behalf of the NFL on managing the transition from player to civilian life.
As a bishop in the LDS Church, I dealt with addicts of all kinds: pornography, alcohol, tobacco, food, sex, illicit and prescription drugs.
In my experience, the Church's 12-step addiction recovery program sponsored by LDS Family Services is the best program that exists — better than the NFL's, NBA's, MLB's, NHL's, even than the more renowned Alcoholics Anonymous, though AA has done and is doing tremendous work.
One reason is it's based on President Boyd K. Packer's oft-quoted statement: "The study of the doctrines of the gospel will improve behavior quicker than talking about behavior will improve behavior." The Church's addiction recovery program incorporates the principles of honesty, faith, humility, trust in God, love for self and others and draws participants to Christ and His infinite Atonement. It is powerful and miraculous.
If you have a loved one who suffers from addiction, please seek it out.
It's never too late.
Copyright 2012, Deseret News Publishing Company
Monday, February 13, 2012
Three Red Marbles
During the waning years of the depression in a small southeastern Idaho community, I used to stop by Mr. Miller's roadside stand for farm-fresh produce as the season made it available. Food and money were still extremely scarce and bartering was used, extensively.
One particular day Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.
Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas ... sure look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
"Would you like to take some home?"
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize marble here."
"Is that right? Let me see it."
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"
"Not 'zackley .....But, almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble."
"Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said: "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."
I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys and their bartering.
Several years went by each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go I agreed to accompany them. Upon our arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts ... very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and composed, by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary, awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. Eyes glistening she took my hand and led me to the casket. "Those three young men, who just left, were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last when Jim could not change his mind about color or size... they came to pay their debt. "We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but, right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho."
With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three, exquisitely shined, red marbles.
One particular day Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.
Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas ... sure look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
"Would you like to take some home?"
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize marble here."
"Is that right? Let me see it."
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"
"Not 'zackley .....But, almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble."
"Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said: "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."
I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys and their bartering.
Several years went by each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go I agreed to accompany them. Upon our arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts ... very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and composed, by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary, awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. Eyes glistening she took my hand and led me to the casket. "Those three young men, who just left, were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last when Jim could not change his mind about color or size... they came to pay their debt. "We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but, right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho."
With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three, exquisitely shined, red marbles.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
God and the Spider
God and the Spider
During World War II, a US marine was separated from his unit on a
Pacific island. The fighting had been intense, and in the smoke and the crossfire he had lost touch with his comrades.
Alone in the jungle, he could hear enemy soldiers coming in his direction. Scrambling for cover, he found his way up a high ridge to
several small caves in the rock. Quickly he crawled inside one of
the caves. Although safe for the moment, he realized that once the
enemy soldiers looking for him swept up the ridge, they would
quickly search all the caves and he would be killed.
As he waited, he prayed, Lord, if it be your will, please protect me.
Whatever your will though, I love you and trust you. Amen.
After praying, he lay quietly listening to the enemy begin to draw
close. He thought, Well, I guess the Lord is not going to help me
out of this one. Then he saw a spider begin to build a web over the
front of his cave.
As he watched, listening to the enemy searching for him all the
while, the spider layered strand after strand of web across the opening of the cave.
He thought what I need is a brick wall and what the Lord has sent
me is a spider web. God does have a sense of humor. As the enemy drew closer he watched from the darkness of his hideout and could see them searching one cave after another. As they came to his, he got ready to make his last stand. To his amazement, however, after glancing in the direction of his cave, they moved on.
Suddenly, he realized that with the spider web over the entrance,
his cave looked as if no one had entered for quite a while. Lord,
forgive me, prayed the young man. I had forgotten that in you a
spider's web is stronger than a brick wall.
We all face times of great trouble. When we do, it is so easy to forget the victories that God would work in our lives, sometimes in the most surprising ways. As the great leader, Nehemiah, reminded the people of Israel when they faced the task of rebuilding Jerusalem, In God we will have success! [Nehemiah 2:20]
Remember: Whatever is happening in your life, with God, a mere spiders web can become a brick wall of protection. Believe He is
with you always. Just speak His name through Jesus His son, and you
will see His great power and love for you.
During World War II, a US marine was separated from his unit on a
Pacific island. The fighting had been intense, and in the smoke and the crossfire he had lost touch with his comrades.
Alone in the jungle, he could hear enemy soldiers coming in his direction. Scrambling for cover, he found his way up a high ridge to
several small caves in the rock. Quickly he crawled inside one of
the caves. Although safe for the moment, he realized that once the
enemy soldiers looking for him swept up the ridge, they would
quickly search all the caves and he would be killed.
As he waited, he prayed, Lord, if it be your will, please protect me.
Whatever your will though, I love you and trust you. Amen.
After praying, he lay quietly listening to the enemy begin to draw
close. He thought, Well, I guess the Lord is not going to help me
out of this one. Then he saw a spider begin to build a web over the
front of his cave.
As he watched, listening to the enemy searching for him all the
while, the spider layered strand after strand of web across the opening of the cave.
He thought what I need is a brick wall and what the Lord has sent
me is a spider web. God does have a sense of humor. As the enemy drew closer he watched from the darkness of his hideout and could see them searching one cave after another. As they came to his, he got ready to make his last stand. To his amazement, however, after glancing in the direction of his cave, they moved on.
Suddenly, he realized that with the spider web over the entrance,
his cave looked as if no one had entered for quite a while. Lord,
forgive me, prayed the young man. I had forgotten that in you a
spider's web is stronger than a brick wall.
We all face times of great trouble. When we do, it is so easy to forget the victories that God would work in our lives, sometimes in the most surprising ways. As the great leader, Nehemiah, reminded the people of Israel when they faced the task of rebuilding Jerusalem, In God we will have success! [Nehemiah 2:20]
Remember: Whatever is happening in your life, with God, a mere spiders web can become a brick wall of protection. Believe He is
with you always. Just speak His name through Jesus His son, and you
will see His great power and love for you.
Monday, January 16, 2012
I Believe in Tim Tebow
Friday, January 13, 2012
I believe in Tim Tebow
________________________________________
By Rick Reilly
ESPN.com
I've come to believe in Tim Tebow, but not for what he does on a football field, which is still three parts Dr. Jekyll and two parts Mr. Hyde.
No, I've come to believe in Tim Tebow for what he does off a football field, which is represent the best parts of us, the parts I want to be and so rarely am.
Who among us is this selfless?
Every week, Tebow picks out someone who is suffering, or who is dying, or who is injured. He flies these people and their families to the Broncos game, rents them a car, puts them up in a nice hotel, buys them dinner (usually at a Dave & Buster's), gets them and their families pregame passes, visits with them just before kickoff (!), gets them 30-yard-line tickets down low, visits with them after the game (sometimes for an hour), has them walk him to his car, and sends them off with a basket of gifts.
Home or road, win or lose, hero or goat.
Remember last week, when the world was pulling its hair out in the hour after Tebow had stunned the Pittsburgh Steelers with an 80-yard OT touchdown pass to Demaryius Thomas in the playoffs? And Twitter was exploding with 9,420 tweets about Tebow per second? When an ESPN poll was naming him the most popular athlete in America?
Tebow was spending that hour talking to 16-year-old Bailey Knaub about her 73 surgeries so far and what TV shows she likes.
MORE FROM TIM TEBOW
"Here he'd just played the game of his life," recalls Bailey's mother, Kathy, of Loveland, Colo., "and the first thing he does after his press conference is come find Bailey and ask, 'Did you get anything to eat?' He acted like what he'd just done wasn't anything, like it was all about Bailey."
More than that, Tebow kept corralling people into the room for Bailey to meet. Hey, Demaryius, come in here a minute. Hey, Mr. Elway. Hey, Coach Fox.
Even though sometimes-fatal Wegener's granulomatosis has left Bailey with only one lung, the attention took her breath away.
"It was the best day of my life," she emailed. "It was a bright star among very gloomy and difficult days. Tim Tebow gave me the greatest gift I could ever imagine. He gave me the strength for the future. I know now that I can face any obstacle placed in front of me. Tim taught me to never give up because at the end of the day, today might seem bleak but it can't rain forever and tomorrow is a new day, with new promises."
I read that email to Tebow, and he was honestly floored.
"Why me? Why should I inspire her?" he said. "I just don't feel, I don't know, adequate. Really, hearing her story inspires me."
It's not just NFL defenses that get Tebowed. It's high school girls who don't know whether they'll ever go to a prom. It's adults who can hardly stand. It's kids who will die soon.
For the game at Buffalo, it was Charlottesville, Va., blue-chip high school QB Jacob Rainey, who lost his leg after a freak tackle in a scrimmage. Tebow threw three interceptions in that Buffalo game and the Broncos were crushed 40-14.
"He walked in and took a big sigh and said, 'Well, that didn't go as planned,'" Rainey remembers. "Where I'm from, people wonder how sincere and genuine he is. But I think he's the most genuine person I've ever met."
There's not an ounce of artifice or phoniness or Hollywood in this kid Tebow, and I've looked everywhere for it.
Take 9-year-old Zac Taylor, a child who lives in constant pain. Immediately after Tebow shocked the Chicago Bears with a 13-10 comeback win, Tebow spent an hour with Zac and his family. At one point, Zac, who has 10 doctors, asked Tebow whether he has a secret prayer for hospital visits. Tebow whispered it in his ear. And because Tebow still needed to be checked out by the Broncos' team doctor, he took Zac in with him, but only after they had whispered it together.
And it's not always kids. Tom Driscoll, a 55-year-old who is dying of brain cancer at a hospice in Denver, was Tebow's guest for the Cincinnati game. "The doctors took some of my brain," Driscoll says, "so my short-term memory is kind of shot. But that day I'll never forget. Tim is such a good man."
This whole thing makes no football sense, of course. Most NFL players hardly talk to teammates before a game, much less visit with the sick and dying.
Isn't that a huge distraction?
Not everything Tim Tebow does on one knee is controversial. Ask Zac Taylor.
"Just the opposite," Tebow says. "It's by far the best thing I do to get myself ready. Here you are, about to play a game that the world says is the most important thing in the world. Win and they praise you. Lose and they crush you. And here I have a chance to talk to the coolest, most courageous people. It puts it all into perspective. The game doesn't really matter. I mean, I'll give 100 percent of my heart to win it, but in the end, the thing I most want to do is not win championships or make a lot of money, it's to invest in people's lives, to make a difference."
So that's it. I've given up giving up on him. I'm a 100 percent believer. Not in his arm. Not in his skills. I believe in his heart, his there-will-definitely-be-a-pony-under-the-tree optimism, the way his love pours into people, right up to their eyeballs, until they believe they can master the hopeless comeback, too.
Remember the QB who lost his leg, Jacob Rainey? He got his prosthetic leg a few weeks ago, and he wants to play high school football next season. Yes, tackle football. He'd be the first to do that on an above-the-knee amputation.
Hmmm. Wonder where he got that crazy idea?
"Tim told me to keep fighting, no matter what," Rainey says. "I am."
I believe in Tim Tebow
________________________________________
By Rick Reilly
ESPN.com
I've come to believe in Tim Tebow, but not for what he does on a football field, which is still three parts Dr. Jekyll and two parts Mr. Hyde.
No, I've come to believe in Tim Tebow for what he does off a football field, which is represent the best parts of us, the parts I want to be and so rarely am.
Who among us is this selfless?
Every week, Tebow picks out someone who is suffering, or who is dying, or who is injured. He flies these people and their families to the Broncos game, rents them a car, puts them up in a nice hotel, buys them dinner (usually at a Dave & Buster's), gets them and their families pregame passes, visits with them just before kickoff (!), gets them 30-yard-line tickets down low, visits with them after the game (sometimes for an hour), has them walk him to his car, and sends them off with a basket of gifts.
Home or road, win or lose, hero or goat.
Remember last week, when the world was pulling its hair out in the hour after Tebow had stunned the Pittsburgh Steelers with an 80-yard OT touchdown pass to Demaryius Thomas in the playoffs? And Twitter was exploding with 9,420 tweets about Tebow per second? When an ESPN poll was naming him the most popular athlete in America?
Tebow was spending that hour talking to 16-year-old Bailey Knaub about her 73 surgeries so far and what TV shows she likes.
MORE FROM TIM TEBOW
"Here he'd just played the game of his life," recalls Bailey's mother, Kathy, of Loveland, Colo., "and the first thing he does after his press conference is come find Bailey and ask, 'Did you get anything to eat?' He acted like what he'd just done wasn't anything, like it was all about Bailey."
More than that, Tebow kept corralling people into the room for Bailey to meet. Hey, Demaryius, come in here a minute. Hey, Mr. Elway. Hey, Coach Fox.
Even though sometimes-fatal Wegener's granulomatosis has left Bailey with only one lung, the attention took her breath away.
"It was the best day of my life," she emailed. "It was a bright star among very gloomy and difficult days. Tim Tebow gave me the greatest gift I could ever imagine. He gave me the strength for the future. I know now that I can face any obstacle placed in front of me. Tim taught me to never give up because at the end of the day, today might seem bleak but it can't rain forever and tomorrow is a new day, with new promises."
I read that email to Tebow, and he was honestly floored.
"Why me? Why should I inspire her?" he said. "I just don't feel, I don't know, adequate. Really, hearing her story inspires me."
It's not just NFL defenses that get Tebowed. It's high school girls who don't know whether they'll ever go to a prom. It's adults who can hardly stand. It's kids who will die soon.
For the game at Buffalo, it was Charlottesville, Va., blue-chip high school QB Jacob Rainey, who lost his leg after a freak tackle in a scrimmage. Tebow threw three interceptions in that Buffalo game and the Broncos were crushed 40-14.
"He walked in and took a big sigh and said, 'Well, that didn't go as planned,'" Rainey remembers. "Where I'm from, people wonder how sincere and genuine he is. But I think he's the most genuine person I've ever met."
There's not an ounce of artifice or phoniness or Hollywood in this kid Tebow, and I've looked everywhere for it.
Take 9-year-old Zac Taylor, a child who lives in constant pain. Immediately after Tebow shocked the Chicago Bears with a 13-10 comeback win, Tebow spent an hour with Zac and his family. At one point, Zac, who has 10 doctors, asked Tebow whether he has a secret prayer for hospital visits. Tebow whispered it in his ear. And because Tebow still needed to be checked out by the Broncos' team doctor, he took Zac in with him, but only after they had whispered it together.
And it's not always kids. Tom Driscoll, a 55-year-old who is dying of brain cancer at a hospice in Denver, was Tebow's guest for the Cincinnati game. "The doctors took some of my brain," Driscoll says, "so my short-term memory is kind of shot. But that day I'll never forget. Tim is such a good man."
This whole thing makes no football sense, of course. Most NFL players hardly talk to teammates before a game, much less visit with the sick and dying.
Isn't that a huge distraction?
Not everything Tim Tebow does on one knee is controversial. Ask Zac Taylor.
"Just the opposite," Tebow says. "It's by far the best thing I do to get myself ready. Here you are, about to play a game that the world says is the most important thing in the world. Win and they praise you. Lose and they crush you. And here I have a chance to talk to the coolest, most courageous people. It puts it all into perspective. The game doesn't really matter. I mean, I'll give 100 percent of my heart to win it, but in the end, the thing I most want to do is not win championships or make a lot of money, it's to invest in people's lives, to make a difference."
So that's it. I've given up giving up on him. I'm a 100 percent believer. Not in his arm. Not in his skills. I believe in his heart, his there-will-definitely-be-a-pony-under-the-tree optimism, the way his love pours into people, right up to their eyeballs, until they believe they can master the hopeless comeback, too.
Remember the QB who lost his leg, Jacob Rainey? He got his prosthetic leg a few weeks ago, and he wants to play high school football next season. Yes, tackle football. He'd be the first to do that on an above-the-knee amputation.
Hmmm. Wonder where he got that crazy idea?
"Tim told me to keep fighting, no matter what," Rainey says. "I am."
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