God is Real

The man was a shell of what he once was.  Hardly recognizable, his emaciated frame slumped forward as he struggled to speak to his long time co-worker and friend who happens to be my son, Justin. Finding it hard to believe his eyes as he entered the hospital room, Justin was intent upon paying his very sick friend a visit.  What he would witness during that brief encounter shook my son to his core.  His retelling of the events to follow had me shaking my head.  There was something profoundly different about the man Justin visited.  A difference Justin found impossible to explain.  

Gone was the banter that co-workers often toss back and forth at one another.  Gone was the youthful energy that he often marveled at.  Gone was the sense of humor.  Gone was the man he remembered.  Throat cancer had stolen the vibrancy that Justin had loved so much about this man who now struggled to even speak.  

The two managed to small talk, though the tracheotomy had left his once strong voice a weak whisper.  They talked about the company they worked for, the people they worked with and life in general. The small talk made their meeting seem wonderfully mundane, a way to avoid facing the horror of the moment  that was screaming for attention.  Justin, who is mature beyond his years and can always find ways to lighten a difficult situation, found himself lost in the tiny hospital room, as if he had been diminished to a voiceless spot on the wall, a helpless shadow of himself and all God had made him to be.  He looked at his dying friend and did not know what to say. 

Suddenly, Justin realized his friend was struggling.  He noticed his breathing become more difficult as he seemed to want to say something to Justin but did not know how.  Finally, the man managed to say, “Justin, I have something to tell you.”  Justin welcomed his friend to tell him anything he wanted.  The man seemed to grow very nervous, almost anxious as he struggled to speak the words.  Again, Justin encouraged him to say whatever was on his mind.  Finally, he turned to Justin and with conviction like Justin had never witnessed in his life said “God is real!”

It was a statement of such simple meaning and bumper sticker overuse that in any other setting it would hardly register in a conversation.  But, this – this was much different.  The powerful look of certainty that was expressed in his friends face startled Justin.  Justin responded, “I know!” He and his friend had occasional talks about God and Justin’s Christian faith.  The man struggling to speak knew Justin’s faith was real which made his statement all the more unusual.  Again, with even greater seriousness, he turned to Justin and said, “No Justin, I’m serious! God is real!”  Again Justin assured his friend that he believed him.  

Finally, after the initial shock of his dramatic proclamation, the friend told Justin an amazing story.

A few days earlier, the man had coded while in the hospital and according to his doctors, came very close to dying.  There are so many stories as told in books and movies of people experiencing near death episodes and living to report seeing the beauty of the afterlife.  I, like Justin, have never disputed those claims, however, I have also never been interested in them.  I believe in heaven and a God who has prepared a place for me, but, I get a little uncomfortable hearing details about the ever-after.  But, this was different.  Here was a man who Justin knew and knew well.  A good man and a man familiar with the Christian faith but not one to talk about it.  He worked hard, cared about people, kept to himself and lived his life.  This was so out of character for him, Justin had to keep reminding himself who he was talking to.  Hearing him tell this story with such passion and certainty had Justin reeling.  He continued.  “While I was unconscious, I had a dream that I was surrounded by hundreds of smiling faces.  People I seemed to know and seeing them made me very happy. I felt incredible peace.”, he explained.  “When I woke I remembered the dream clearly but did not know who the people were.”  Justin kept listening.

“After that”, he continued, ” I kept having that same dream and kept seeing all these people that I seemed to know standing around me, smiling, hundreds of them”  He began to get emotional and Justin recognized that he was weeping as he told the story.  Justin hardly knew what to say.  And then he told Justin that when he goes to sleep at night, he is scared of dying.  “But then I have that dream and I see those people and I have never felt happier in my life.”  And then he turned to Justin and said with what Justin described as the greatest conviction and certainty he had ever heard from anyone, “Justin, heaven is real!  God is real!”

Before he left from his friend’s hospital room, Justin offered a prayer for him then gave him a hug and finally left for home.  But, before he walked out he heard his friend say, “If I make it out of this hospital, I will be in church every Sunday.” 

I am not sure what God is up to.  There have been times that Justin has questioned what he should do in his life.  Lisa and I always try to encourage both our children but, truthfully, we don’t always know what to tell them.  But, we always, always leave them with our belief that God is sovereign and in control.  God knows what He is doing even if we don’t.

And after hearing Justin’s story, I have to conclude that this has been in His plan all along.  As God created his life, as he knit him together in Lisa’s womb – God determined that one day he would hear from the most unlikely person that “God is real” and he will remember that forever.

Happy Thanksgiving! 

Back Home in Kentucky

It has been over four years since Lisa and I headed to Hanover, Pennsylvania for her first travel job. Since then we have been from one end of the country to the other and the adventures we have experienced traveling have been some of the most exciting of our lifetime.  I have blogged almost 300 articles telling stories of our time on the road, living in an RV, the people we have met, the friends we have made and the places we have seen.  

When Lisa’s second year working in Cambridge, Ohio came to an end in late August, we were excited to get home and spend time with our family.  Our first thought was to be home for a month and hit the road again, but being home this time just felt different – we did not want to leave.  So, we have made the decision to stay home through Christmas and then let God lead us to where or what we do after that.  

Lisa is now doing embroidery jobs here at home with her new embroidery machine and is open for business and I am trying to sell my book, A Glory Denied, which can be purchased at http://www.aglorydenied.wordpress.com to offset our income loss.  We have learned that money means very little compared to holding our grandchildren.

I will continue to blog our new adventures, only these will be here at home.  Owensboro, Kentucky may seem like a boring place compared to Gettysburg, Arizona, California and other places we have lived, but we think it is the most beautiful place on earth and, to be honest, our home has been the location of our greatest adventures – raising our family and building our lives.  

We will probably hit the road again sometime after the first of the year, but for now… it’s good to be home.

Steve and Lisa

A Glory Denied

Finally, I am able to announce that my book, A Glory Denied: The Story of the 1967  Owensboro High School Football Team will soon be available for purchase. I am anticipating a launch date of October 12th.

In the meantime, those who wish to pre-pay to reserve your copy may do so by going to http://www.aglorydenied.wordpress.com and I will mail you a copy asap. Books are $20.00 plus $5.00 for shipping and handling.  

For those in the Owensboro/Daviess County area who wish to avoid shipping and handling costs, I will be selling books at the high school on October 14th and 21st prior to the OHS football games.  Weather permitting, I will be set up near the old OHS gym near the corner of Frederica St. and Ford Ave. 

Lastly, I will be speaking about the book at the Owensboro-Daviess County Public Library on Wednesday November 2nd at 6:00pm.  I will have books available for sale at that time as well.  

Thanks for your interest in this book and the incredible story of a football team whose dream of a state championship was taken away due to no fault of their own.  Theirs was A Glory Denied.

Thanks!

Steve Mc

A Thanks Long Overdue

Tomorrow is a big day in my life. My first published book will arrive in the mail and within the next couple of weeks, “A Glory Denied: The Story of the 1967 Owensboro High School Football Team” will be available for purchase. One of the two hardback copies that will arrive tomorrow will be mine to keep. The other will soon make its way to a very special man who has meant so much to Owensboro High School football, the “Coach”, Gerald Poynter.

One day during the fall of 1967 when I was eight years old, my dad and I walked from our house on 22nd Street to Rash Stadium to practice for an upcoming Punt, Pass and Kick competition.  The football I was practicing with had been thrown, kicked and punted so many times in our street that the laces had busted and the inner tube was protruding through the opening to the point it looked pregnant.  I abused the footballs my parents bought for me and my dad told me not to throw or kick it in the street.  I didn’t listen.  I would not be allowed another football until Christmas.  I’m certain that the football players leaving the field that day after practice had a good laugh seeing my pregnant football.  That’s when Gerald Poynter did something I will never forget. 

If my memory serves me correctly, Coach Poynter came over to where I was practicing and gave me a few words of encouragement and noticed my bizarre looking football.  He then walked into the OHS locker room and returned with a ball that they used for practice. It was not new, but in good shape and he walked over and gave it to me.  It was the greatest gift I had ever received. 

Over the years I have wanted to thank him for his kindness but never really had the chance.  In the next few days, I will present Coach Poynter with a signed, hardcover, copy of the book about those ’67 Red Devils he coached and I will tell him thanks for that football he gave me fifty years ago.

Those ’67 Red Devils were special and I am excited for people to read why. Their story is unlike any in Owensboro High School sports history and after fifty years I wanted them to get the recognition they deserve. 

I also want to use the book as a way to say thanks for the kindness shown to me by their head coach. 

It will be a thanks long overdue.

Noah and the Fat Girl

Some biblical scholars have concluded that Noah may have worked on building the ark for as many as 150 years. Can you imagine? Every day, waking up, grabbing the same hammer and pegs and going about driving them into the side of that vessel – for 150 years – waiting for the rain, and not seeing a cloud in the sky. 

It is a testimony of a man’s faith, resolve, perhaps even stubbornness, not to quit.  I have to wonder what the early days of that project must have been like for Noah. The enormous size of the task must have been almost overwhelming. Did he ever throw down his tools in frustration? Did the animals drive him nuts? Did he ever want to quit? My hunch is yes to all those questions. I know I would have.

The great struggle of our culture is the inability to wait, to persevere, to accept our reward is far into the future and never tire of straining toward it.  We want what we want now – a fastpass to our dreams. There are very few Noahs in our world today. I am certainly not one.

While sitting each morning here at the resort where we are staying for our vacation, I have watched a young lady jogging the perimeter walkway.  She appears to be in her twenties and her jogging pace tells me she just started running in the past few days. Overweight and heavy-legged, she struggles to complete one full circle.  I have watched her face twist in a painful grimace as she struggles to complete her second lap. By lap three she is walking and struggling to breathe.  She has a long way to go.  But, every morning this week she has been out here – running, trying, hurting. I think about how each morning she rises from her bed, slips on her jogging atire, and quietly makes her way to the jogging path knowing how painful the experience will be.  Yet, I see her everyday.  Other more capable runners fly around her with little effort, lapping her and I wonder if she is discouraged seeing “Miss Fit-body” in the bright spandex flexing past. But, for some reason, she keeps going. God bless her! 

There is a dream way out in the future for this chubby girl who runs here every morning. She wants something and seems determined to get it. I hope she does.  I hope she keeps running when she gets home and never gives up. For some strange reason I want that for her, someone I don’t even know. 

But, maybe I do know her. Maybe she is me. I see her struggles and I see my own. I know what it feels like to get lapped by people. I know how hard it is to keep going when the pain is overwhelming. I know what it is like to fail. And that is why I want her to keep running – to keep driving the pegs into those holes until God delivers His promise – whenever that will be. Please, chubby girl I see each morning, don’t stop!  Please don’t stop!

Your reward is waiting!

A Buffet for Chris

An amazing thing happened here at Disney World last week. I have found that small gestures of kindness are the most memorable of all and that is what we experienced.  A small thing with a big impact. Disney is really good at creating little, magic moments for its guests and that is one of the reasons we return over and over. This one, we may never forget 

We had been planning a trip to Disney World for the past year and invited a sweet family we met in Cambridge,Ohio to join us for their first vacation in almost fifteen years. We covered the cost of the room and helped them raise enough money to make the trip affordable.  They had the time of their lives. 

One of their concerns was their son, Chris, who is autistic and requires a special diet.  There was some concern that Disney might not be able to accommodate Chris and his special needs.  Those worries went away on our first night.  

The campground here at DW has one of our favorite restaurants (Trails End) and features a buffet style assortment of foods.  None of them, however, were on Chris’s limited diet.  Upon arriving, I checked us in to be seated and explained Chris’s special diet needs.  One of the staff members from the restaurant took down a list of food items that Chris liked and soon we were seated. With the exception of Chris, our group began filling our plates with mini-mounds of delicious food.  Chris waited as our waiter told us his food was being prepared.  

The list of food Chris eats includes French fries, chicken nuggets, Mac and cheese, and cheeseburgers.  It was our thought that they were cooking up one of those items for Chris, which was all we could expect.

Then one of those pixie-dust moments happened.  Carrying a full tray of various food items, our waiter placed plate after plate of Chris’s favorite foods in front of him.  Every item on his list had been prepared and we could not believe our eyes.

It then dawned on me that they had created for Chris his own buffet. Cheeseburgers, fries, macaroni, nuggets – he had it all and could ask for as much of it as he could eat.  We were without words.

Disney World is an expensive place and certainly a different kind of vacation mentality required.  But, there is not a place this side of heaven that can make magic happen with such kindness and inclusiveness. They had made Chris feel special, but more importantly, made his parents feel included.

That is magic!

Steve Mc

Eating Around the World

Lisa and I have been here at Disney World with some friends for over a week and have enjoyed our vacation immensely.  Over the next month or so, the annual”Wine and Food Festival” at Epcot is happening.  And I do mean “happening”. Last night we inched our way around the world showcase sampling various foods from around the world along with every other two legged creature in central Florida.  I am convinced there is no such thing as “downtime” at Disney World.  Either the schools are shut down this week or Florida residents are only allowed to vacation in September.  We are talking grid-lock. But, food was calling and so we joined in the fray.

The food samples are really no more than a couple of spoonfuls and seemed (relatively) inexpensive (at least to Disney World economy). Five or six bucks will allow you to sample most menu items.  Lisa and I started in Australia and worked our way through Mexico, Italy and a few other countries whose food items I could not even pronounce.  We blew through about a hundred bucks worth of samples, trying to convince ourselves the entire time what a great time we were having, sweating in lines with the other sweaty people trying to convince themselves they were having a good time sweating with us. In other words, we were miserable.  

To make matters worse, Disney workers, wearing oversized Mickey gloves, waved to us as we left the park, as if to say, “Good-bye you idiots and thanks for leaving all your money with us.  See you tomorrow!”

After inching back to our car with all the other broke, miserable cattle, we finally made it back to our condo and I fixed a bologna sandwich. I figured it cost me about .67 cents. 

Best deal of the day and I ate the whole thing.  

Tomorrow, we are going to try Chinese. There is a buffet right outside the Disney World gates. And they will let you eat all you want.

Steve Mc

My Friend Chris

You don’t really notice the faults and flaws in people who are your friends. Chris is my friend.  I came to know Chris while Lisa and I have spent the last two years here in Cambridge, Ohio.  Soon Chris and his family will join Lisa and I at Disney World for their first ever trip to the “Happiest Place on Earth”. It will be their first family vacation in over ten years and we are excited to be able to help this very deserving, hard working family to this long awaited trip.  Chris is excited too.

Chris and I have made Sunday afternoons our movie time each week through the summer and have enjoyed hanging out while watching the movie of his choice.  Fortunately, we have similar tastes in movies. We love animated movies and movies that border on being silly, hokey-jokey films that probably could have been made for TV or even direct to DVD fare. But, that’s OK with me. Sometimes a predictable, campy movie is just what I need to purge my brain of all the bad stuff in the world. Chris doesn’t care that most of the kids in the theater are half his age and can be heard talking and giggling throughout the theater for the entire movie. I love that about him.

Don’t get me wrong – Chris has some quirks.  He only drinks diet Coke and demands a bag of buttered popcorn at the movie and he sometimes wants to talk during the show. But, the seven and eight year olds don’t seem to mind him either. Neither do I. He laughs out loud and loudly at parts of the movie that only he finds funny and then wants to repeat the line over and over. I love that about him.

Chris stayed with me all this week at the campground and we spent time swimming, watching movies and eating his favorite meal of plain cheeseburgers and fries with (you guessed it) diet Coke. He is very easy to please. I love that about him.

Chris loves knock-knock jokes, singing Disney songs, pretending to pick his nose to get a rise out of me and then laughing uncontrollably when I teasingly put mustard on his finger to make him stop. He can recite lines from movies and TV commercials and can answer any Disney movie trivia question I throw at him.  He loves to change his voice and pretend to be a character I created for him, “Evil Dr. Christoff”.  He thinks the name sounds menacing. I love that about him.

Chris is autistic. He will never be able to live on his own and will need a supervised, sheltered work environment his entire life. He will forever talk out loud in movie theaters, want only fries for lunch and every day text me “Good morning, Stevie” and before bed “Good night, Stevie”. And I love that about him.

Chris is my friend. And that is really all that matters.

Reunion

This past weekend Lisa and I drove nine hours south to Alabama for her family’s reunion. It was a very quick trip and we are now back in Ohio for our final six weeks before heading home and taking some time off.  

I have great admiration for Lisa’s family and there seems to be a genuine love for one another and for outsiders such as myself.  They have always been warm and welcoming to me and to the McFarland branch of the tree.  Having very little family myself, Lisa’s people have become my people and I can’t imagine how it might be for me without them.

Neither my mom or dad had brothers or sisters and my brother and I never had any first cousins.  My dad’s mom died when he was a baby and we never knew his father as he passed away when we were very young.  When my brother died in 1987 followed by my dad and mom a few years later, I had very few relatives left.  With the exception of some distant cousins who I have only occasional contact, I am all that is left.  God has blessed me with wonderful children and grandchildren that fill any void in my life and add to that Lisa’s family – and I can say my cup runneth over.  

I have to admit that I feel a twinge of envy listening to Lisa and her cousins reminiscing about their childhoods and the adventures of growing up together. On Friday night, Lisa’s female cousins gathered in our hotel room and shared funny stories of the past and present.  I watched as these women sprawled across the bed like teenagers and laughed at the funny tales being told, much like I imagine they did forty or more years ago. I took a spot in the corner of the room and tried to stay out of the mix. (Truthfully. I had no where else to go and if I could have slid under the bed – I would have). It was not until my c-pap machine was spotted that I was brought into the conversation.  

My how time and age changes things. Forty years ago I can imagine the conversation with these girl cousins involving topics such as Donnie Osmond and their new stereos. Friday night the discussion was on surgeries, female hot flashes and c-pap machines.  One of Lisa’s cousins told the funny story of having her first experience using her c-pap and how the setting was so high, it caused her lips to flutter “like a dog hanging his head out of the window of a race car”.  Good times!  Fortunately the late night cousin conversation came to an end soon after that and before it could devolve into trying to outdo one another with detailed descriptions of their most recent surgeries.

I am relieved that I no longer have to explain to people what I do for a living, the most common question at reunions. When I was first introduced to the family, it was always the first question asked. “So, Steve, what do you do?” I would then feel the need to explain my mundane job in as impressive and self-important terms as possible.  There was the fear in those early years in the “Cunningham” family, that if the truth came out that I really had a rather boring job with an embarrassingly low salary, there may be a caucus in a back room somewhere deciding I was “Out!”.  That never happened and Lisa’s family members have always been accepting of their Kentucky hillbilly cousins.  For that I will love them forever.  I suppose the interest in what “I do” will be on every relatives mind until they gather at my funeral (I imagine, even then, someone will lean over my corpse and ask, “So, Steve, what do you do?”) Being retired, my answer to that question now is very simple, “Nothing”. Next question?

The truth is these are some of the most welcoming people I have ever known. Lisa’s aunt JoAnn never fails to screech out your name and declare how wonderful it is to see you. And, I think, she really means it. That is a real gift.  

I am appreciative of a family that cherishes being together.  Despite political or religious differences, there is a sense of care and concern that overrides any disagreements.  Age is now starting to catch up with the brothers and sisters, cousins and kin and father time marches on in all our lives.  Our time together should always be spent loving and laughing, remembering good times and cherishing what we have left.

I’m glad God gave me this family to reunite with.

Love, Steve

A Glory Denied: Preface

       Today I am sharing with my readers the (unedited) preface to my book, “A Glory Denied: The Story of the 1967 Owensboro High School Football Team”.  I am currently waiting for approval on some photos to be used in the book and other final touches before it goes through the editing and publishing process.  

      I am excited to share this story with others and hope this brief excerpt will spark interest in this remarkable team.  Thanks for reading and I welcome your comments.

Thanks!  Steve McFarland

   

                   

                               Amor Fati – “Love your fate,” which is in fact your life.

                                                            Friedrich Nietzsche

 

    A Glory Denied: The Story of the 1967 Owensboro High School Football Team                          

                                                                  Preface

            The noise from the big diesel engine drowned out the sound of conversations as the chartered bus made its way home.  Cold raindrops created tiny streams of water on the windows and the worn down football players leaned their heads against the cold glass and watched the rivulets of moisture being pushed into random patterns by the cold November wind.  Occasional light would pierce the darkness inside the bus as it carried the winning team home following their final game of the season.  For the eighteen seniors the night was bittersweet.  Their high school football careers were over and this, their final game seemed anti-climactic as no more than three hundred fans, the smallest crowd of the year, would witness this, their final victory.  Who could blame fans for staying home on such a cold, miserable night?  The game meant nothing in terms of standings or play-off implications.  For these Owensboro (Kentucky) Red Devils, the final trip down US Highway 60 toward home would mean the end of what had been a remarkable season.  The looming, inevitable end was a foreboding reality long before the season began, a dreaded moment they would all face, a foe they had no power to defeat.

           Throughout their season, thoughts of this, their final game, cast a long, dark shadow on all their success.  A year earlier, in a small office in Lexington, Kentucky, a man with authority to do so had determined that this game would be the Red Devils last for the 1967 season.  Punished for a crime they did not commit, these players had no choice but to accept their fate.  There would be no play-off, no possible chance at a state championship, no chance for glory.  Their season would simply come to an end.

            And that end had now arrived.  As the red and white bus from the Fuqua Bus Lines rolled along bringing players and coaches home for the last time, thoughts of the season now completed began swirling in their minds.  Nine wins against just one loss, a controversial loss to the eventual AAA state champion in front of a Louisville crowd estimated to be over 8,000.  The Red Devils had dispatched of every other opponent on their schedule and had overpowered every AA school in their conference and class outscoring them 371 to 7.  They would find little consolation being crowned Big Eight Conference Champions.  They wanted more.  For the rest of their lives, these players and their coaches wanted more.

            It would not be lost on anyone, coaches or players, that a cross-town rival would be their replacement in the state playoffs.  That thought was practically unbearable considering they had soundly defeated their fill-ins just a few weeks earlier.  For a few players, basketball season would help them take their minds off the painful end of their football careers.  One would be Isaac Brown, the dazzling running back who would soon learn he had been named a Parade Magazine high school All-American.  Brown would find some solace on the hardwood as the basketball season would take his mind off of what might have been, perhaps what should have been.  Several seniors would begin the recruiting process as their football careers would be continued in college.  For the others, this final bus ride home would usher in a long, long winter.

            The bus completed the brief, thirty-mile drive and turned into the school parking lot next to the darkened football stadium.   Players and coaches began gathering their equipment and playbooks.  There would be one final walk inside the locker room and the heart wrenching task of removing their soiled uniforms one final time.  Players and coaches congratulated each other, thanked everyone for the remarkable season and slowly made their way home.

            The 1967 football season was over.  A team picture would find its place in the Owensboro High School hallway.  A single trophy declaring them conference champs would squeeze out a spot in an already crowded trophy case.   The uniforms would be washed and put away in anticipation of many football seasons to come.  It was over.

            The team had answered every question and taken on every challenge.  There was little doubt that this team was the best class AA team in western Kentucky if not the entire state.  Other teams would take their place in the state play-offs and one team would be crowned champions.  It would not be Owensboro High School – that determination had been made twelve months before.

            There would be, in the end, many questions, many opinions and speculations.  Perhaps the most difficult would be the question of how this team would be remembered in history – or if they would be remembered at all.