Walking away, Away from Yesterday...

"Only five more yards until a touchdown. It's not normal, but Neon Deon was never normal. He's now been at tailback for over 3/4ths of the game. He's almost run every play this series. Seven seconds remain, and the cowboys are down five points to the '9ers. And here we go, the snap, the handoff, and he's off around the corner. Oh, he spins, wait, Stubblefield has got him by the ankles. He's bout to get the hit of his lif... Oh and he escapes and dashes for the corner. It's going to be close as he leaps for the pylon. And it's a ..." This is how my mind would play out daily. I would get out of school, go home, put on my Deon Sanders jersey, grab my rubber football, and head to the lawn. The lawn was an uneven quadrilateral that laid in front of my apartment. Right when I stepped off of the last step and onto the green coarse grass, my imagination would take off. There was no one else around except for the occasional onlooker. I can imagine watching this buxom little brown boy running back and forth across what seemed like an eternal grass. For hours back and forth, and when most children would get tired or plain bored, I would keep going. If I was aware of a pair of eyes nearby, my adolescent insecurity would kick in, and I would tone it down a bit; however, I kept going.

I was hanging out at the African Friendship Center this evening, preparing for an ESL session. As I was wandering around the room I came across some red plates covered in cotton. Some were colored with random flashes of color. Some were still unfinished and incomplete. I never had a dad growing up. I never was blessed with a man who kicked my ass, or was around to be my support. But for some reason, without that figure in my life, I still had the feeling of a father. I felt proud of the kids who attempted this craft. Whether they knew it or not, I was proud of their accomplishments. I gave them a menial task of making a lamb's face out of a plate, cotton, and colors. And with this assignment--children soon to be filled with the vitality of adulthood--they made me proud.

I would say that this feeling, or I guess you could call it a type of "eyesight," is a testament to Christ. If the facts were right, if the tales of the surveys and statistics were correct, I should be afraid of fatherdom. I should never want to leap into that endeavor. My reply to any sort of inquisition would be, "Forget that! No part of me and my near or distant future will ever, and I mean ever, want to have to deal with being a father."Fortunately for me, I have been given the grace that passes all understanding.

I can't explain God all the time. I really want too. I wish my words and diction could just draw His picture. If I could paint his beauty, strength, or omniscience, I would. But I can't. It can get frustrating, but other times, the way I see God, is the way I see God. I get to keep it to myself. The way he has fought for me, bought me, and caught me, is all mine. My "inner-man"(spiritual) or super-ego(scientific), selfish by nature, chooses to know Him and know Him well. I guess the only way I can describe Him, is with a word that only He can define for me: Father

Walkin away, walking away from yesterday...
-Mat Kearney

Be Relentless,
Peace
Remoy