Those who know me best know that, in a different lifetime, I loved football. No, make that I worshipped football. I adored it, couldn't get enough and I worshipped at the throne of the Dallas Cowboys, America's Team. So great was this love affair that I, the worshipper, forsook all other things, honored nothing more, loved until death do us part....the object of my worship, said football team. What happened is that, in my passion and love for this team, I lost myself and ultimately worshipped a false God.
Lest you think I am exaggerating....I watched every game that I could, collected every piece of memorabilia available, based my career choices on football, even cried each and every time the Cowboys lost a game. No one in my realm of relationships even THOUGHT about talking to me until 2 or 3 days after a Cowboys' loss. It was really too much. And it was killing me.
In 1988 I discovered the one true God and realized shortly thereafter that I could only have one master. I could not love God and football (at least not the way I loved football). So football had to go. You ask, why? Why could football not stay, just on Sundays, just a little bit? Because there was and never is just a little bit with me. It is always all or nothing. Something that I love about myself yet abhor. But like it or not, it is me. So I made the harsh and final decision that God was all and therefore football had to be nothing. I packed up my Dallas Cowboy stuff -- the phone, the 30 or so sweatshirts, the pjs, the posters, anything and everything Cowboy -- and I gave it the old heave ho into the trash. No garage sale, no making of money off of my idol, no giving my spoils to friends. Cold turkey, gone for good, completely and finally gone.
I never looked back.
To this day I cannot embrace football the sport or even a team completely and fully. I truly believe it is because it was once my God....and God will never allow me to have it back completely and fully. If only I could be this steadfast about other false idols in my life. But one thing at a time, right?
Years after my drastic decision to give up football and all it had meant to me, I became a mother of three children. These three children were the loves of my life, joy of my joys. I quit my job to stay home with these three, to love them as God had instructed me to. These kids (even my daughter) loved to be thrown a Nerf football, each and every night, time after time, until my right arm ached. I loved doing this; it was fun and it never entered my mind the spiritual significance until one day....
We were in the front of our house, out in the street, before the neighborhood got busy and full of people and houses like it is now. It was me, my oldest son, Joseph and my then-husband John. As I threw the ball to Joseph, pass after endless pass, there must have been something about my demeanor that evening that was different. I threw and threw the football as Joseph caught and caught. He matched my every pass with an amazing reception.
I remember a smile lighting up my face and moving through my entire body. My husband, who knew me quite well, smiled at me and said, "I was wondering when God was going to give football back to you." It was a simple comment yet one of the most profound of my life. In that moment I knew that football no longer was a master over me, but I had mastered it. And I could enjoy it again, even if it was in the confines of my front yard throwing a spongy ball to my first-born child.
Football vs. God
