Football stories

 

A Life

 

Football has been the topic of nearly every conversation I’ve had lately. That’s due in part to the fact that Altrusa International of Hermiston is hosting author Charles Martin for our One Book One Community read this week. The novel we chose to read is Martin’s A Life Intercepted, the story of football darling Matthew “The Rocket” Rising, who is falsely accused of rape and sent to prison.

Martin’s story isn’t really about football, although there is a lot of football in the book. The story is, ultimately, about forgiveness. Something we all have to work on in our lives, if we ever hope to be a better people. I admit I’m struggling a lot with the issue of forgiveness lately.

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The Power of the B-I-B-L-E

bible mama

I love the Bible. I love it for its poetry. And I love it for its song. I love it for its wisdom. And I love it for its hope. I love the way it gives comfort, like a mother or a father reaching out to hold an anxious child’s hand.

I love the way it encourages and believes in me when I doubt myself the most.

I love the stories, even the ones of mothers weeping for babies lost, and babies found. And the stories of human frailties and outright awfulness.  The adultery. The abandonment. The acknowledgement.

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Why we never gave up on church

church

Millennial.

We were like you once,

Not so very long ago.

We, after all, were the ones who taught you the words of

The B-I-B-L-E

And how deep and wide is

Our Father’s Love.

You aren’t the first, you know,

to raise the issues

We raised them, too.

We were asking hard questions while

you were learning to go potty in the big chair:

Why are there only white people in this congregation

when the neighborhood is mostly all black?

Why are men the only ones allowed to serve as elders,

deacons, and pastors?

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Rap Music 60s version

True confession: Sometimes Tim and I put on old music and dance. We are not good dancers, either one of us, but we do it anyway.

Nobody is watching us but the dogs, so who cares?

Well, I mean the dogs care. They don’t like us to pay attention to anyone but them.

I listen to a lot of music when I’m editing. Joni Mitchell. James Taylor. Carole King.

Tim is a CCR fan.

Turns out we are just like every other generation that came before us – we think that today’s music fails to live up to the music of yesteryear.

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Dressing up for Trial

Jackson

I’m sensitive to these sorts of things, you understand. I can’t help myself. A person’s background informs present realities. So when I see pictures like the one above of Army Major John Jackson wearing full dress uniform as he heads into court, I want to holler at somebody.

The dress uniform holds personal meaning to me. The last time I saw my father he, too, was wearing something similar. Only Daddy wasn’t dressed up for court. He was dressed up for burying.

Every now and again, I come across those close-up photos that somebody, Lord only knows who, took of my father in that casket. When I was a young girl and would happen across those photos in Mama’s file box, the sight would sicken me something fierce. I would shut my eyes and quickly flip through the photos, scared that if I looked too closely at my daddy that way, I might not ever get that dead man’s face out of my mind. Now that I am older, I have actually held those those photos in my hands and studied them for a good long while. I am never quite sure what I am searching for, some hint, I think, of emotion. I believe the face ought to tell the living something about the dying.

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