When Kim and I left for vacation a little more than a week ago, part of me wondered if I would actually come back. If I were a football player, I looked like a middle linebacker in the final minute of a hard-fought game — soaked in sweat, with a uniform that was muddied and bloodied, and aches and pains and bruises everywhere. I needed a timeout.
I needed some time away, to relax on a beach or by a pool, with a book to read and something cold to drink. We were headed to an all-inclusive resort south of Cancun to witness a spectacular wedding, so I was sure everything would be perfect. The only problem was that we wouldn’t be gone long enough.
I figured the four-night stay — while nice — would only scratch the surface in helping me find peace.
As expected, everything was as wonderful as I imagined it would be. The ocean water was as blue as anything I have ever seen. The customer service was out of this world. When Kristen and Chris said “I do,” we were on a beach looking out into a small inlet that looked like something on a magazine cover.
Ahhhh…
But, on the day before we were set to fly home, you’ll never believe what happened.
…
AN INNOCENT MAN was set to be executed in four days, and the true killer walked into a pastor’s office first thing Monday morning to confess his crime. What followed was a compelling description of all things that had to be done — by the pastor and the innocent man’s attorney — to try to rectify a wrong. It was a race against time.
I always read everything by John’s Grishman, often more than once. I read “The Confession” nine years ago when it first came out, and for reasons I cannot explain it ended up in my travel bag for the trip, and I am so glad it did. Over the span of just a few days, on the plane and by the pool, I wrapped myself in the efforts of the honorable Robbie Flak and the Rev. Keith Schroeder as they fought to save poor Donte Drumm.
“The Confession” is a story about passion and the purpose we can find in our life’s work. They are motivators that go way beyond a paycheck. They reveal an inner drive that is the byproduct of a particular personality and individual talent. By the end of the novel, the attorney and the pastor looked like middle linebackers in the final minute of a hard-fought game — soaked in sweat, wearing a uniform that was muddied and bloodied, with aches and pains and bruises everywhere. They had given this case their all.
They were not quitters or losers. Instead, they were fighters, bearing the image of a champion.
Yeah, I said you would never believe it.
I actually looked forward to getting back to work.
…
I MEET EACH TUESDAY morning at 7:00 a.m. with a small group of guys at the Warren County Common Pleas Courthouse. There are police officers, probation officers, court staff and a few judges. We are led by Wendel Deyo and Lou Schnorr, guys who have devoted their lives to friendship, family, and faith.
Wendel, who for many years was the chaplain for the Cincinnati Reds and Bengals, reminds us every single week how each of us has been uniquely qualified to do the work we do and serve in the positions we are in. It is not a coincidence and not a matter of just good luck. His prayer every week is for all of us to embrace the calling upon our lives. It's powerful.
This Tuesday morning we studied a portion of a letter written 2,000 years ago to a group of Phillippians, and I chuckled when it fit perfectly into what I had felt after reading “The Confession.” Success is not defined by a title, an economic status, or a trophy. Instead, it is found in the journey of helping other people with their problems and assisting them in their pursuit to deal with them.
In short, it means spending each moment in service to others, even if it means, by the end of the day, we feel like that middle linebacker at the end of a hard-fought football game.
Believe me, it is tempting to think of spending day after day after day on the warm, sunny beaches south of Cancun, lapping in the luxury of beautiful surroundings. Trust me, there will still be many times I would like to escape there forever.
But at the end of a day in paradise, if I were a football player, I would be a guy who didn’t break a sweat, had no reason to feel tired, who didn’t have a single stain on my uniform…all because I hadn’t been in the game. And, as hard as it is to believe, I would eventually start complaining that I would like to be more involved.
Who feels more satisfaction when the game is over? The player who played, of course.
So the bruises, the setbacks, the aches and pains? They are all a blessing.
They are the price paid of being in the game.
Put me in, Coach.