We live in Maryland and the state is over wrought with Ravens Fever. But I only caught a few minutes of the actual game; however, I witnessed abundant evidence of the infectious fan fare as I traveled a few country roads and a highway during game time. Down the stretch of my country road, farm house after farm house, I passed no cars. The passage of highway brought the passing of maybe three cars. As I entered a small, suspiciously quiet, rural town near my home, we passed occasional illuminated yard ornaments that glowed with the hue of Ravens purple assured me that I wasn’t caught in a scene from I am Legend ;rather, the Ravens were doing their thing.
Inside homes, fans studied tackles and punts, rated commercials, and reviewed the plays. It was a night to remember.
Driving on the silent and still roads on my way to pick up my son allowed the quiet to churn thoughts about training kids for the glory of God. Parenting is like playing the Super Bowl everyday. Parents, we read all the right play books to help us along the way, study the opposition to determine its next slick move, morph into a nocturnal creature because that is the time the kids want to talk, invest in deeper dialogue to help them form their thoughts… and then one day they get it right. Suddenly, one of the kids blind sides us with that unexpected, right choice.
My sixteen year old kid, the one that is still fighting Goliath, chose to meet the Conqueror of Giants at Bible Study instead of watching the Superbowl. He tackled Acts 8. He witnessed victory, not the one on the field in New Orleans; but the one where the apostle Phillip evangelizes to the crowd in Samaria. My red headed warrior chose the strong side. He may have fumbled through the passage in Acts a time or two, but he had those small, smooth stones, the same ones the warrior-boy David clasped on the field, to defeat his giant. His choice was the strong choice and the right choice.
Our kids don’t always get it right, neither do their parents, but when they do make choices that gain yards for the team leading to an eternal touchdown— that is a true victory.
As his parents, my husband and I humbly cheered for the spiritual yards our son made that night while the rest of the state, did the well deserved Ray Lewis squirrel dance in living rooms, in amethyst illuminated front yards, and even in the sleepy little farm town I passed through. And I bet there was a fierce chest bump or two.