Big time sports in a small time town

In 1986 one of the sports-movies-to-end-all-sports-movies was released. A tiny Indiana town scrapes together a few boys who overcome several hurdles to put together a scrappy season. The town rallies behind the boys and momentum grows until finally the underdog team from a town no one has ever heard of triumphs over a much larger school. Jimmy Chitwood sinks the last second shot to win the 1952 basketball championship. If you know anything about sports movies, you know I'm talking about the movie Hoosiers.

I have watched Hoosiers so many times and I've cried more than once during the pinnacle scene. There's just something about a story of an underdog that moves us, doesn't it? But this movie has always moved me for a different reason, due to the fact that it's a movie not just about a small town team, but it's also a movie about a small town.

I grew up in a small town. Whatever "small town" means to you, think smaller. As you drove into town, there's a population sign and most of my childhood it read "899." Then, at the next census, it jumped. To 901.

My graduating class had 50 students. When I took driver's education, I had to drive to the next town down the road with my instructor to practice driving through a stoplight. Because my town has never had one. Growing up, I could show you where every single classmate of mine lived, I could tell you their pet's name, I could tell you what church they attended, and I could tell you what car they drove when we all got our driver's licenses. I moved away from my hometown 25 years ago when I went to college. My parents still live there and not much has changed. Including that fact that nothing brings our small town together like an exciting sports season with any of the high school's teams.

When I was in high school, I was on the basketball team. My freshman year I was on Junior Varsity (also sometimes known as the "B" squad). I had three friends that were bumped up to Varsity, even though they were only freshmen. With such a young team, our Varsity did not have a winning record that year. My sophomore year I played on both Junior Varsity and Varsity. It was the most physically exhausting time of my life because I practiced with both teams. I played in several Varsity games and that year, due to more experience, we fared a little better. We had a winning record for the first time in a few seasons. We won the first round of tournament play and you would have thought we won the entire championship...we were so excited. We lost the very next game to end our season, but it was an improvement over the previous year. My junior year, we really got rolling. I think our record was something like 22-2.

In my state, the basketball playoffs are Regionals, then you advance to Sectionals, then you advance to the State Tournament. Keep winning, keep playing. Lose and you're done. Schools are matched up by enrollment numbers. So schools play other schools relatively the same student body size.

My junior year, during tournament time we won the first two games to become Regional Champs. We had two games to win in Sectionals to get to the State Tournament in girls' basketball for the first time in our town's history. We won the first Sectional game but lost the game that would have put us in the State Tournament. My senior year, the exact thing happened. Against the same teams. In a wild coincidence, the same four teams made it to Sectionals and the outcome was exactly the same. We beat the same team in the first game, we lost to the same team in the second game. Both years we were so close to making it to the State Tournament!  But it was not to be.

What I remember most about those winning years was the camaraderie with my teammates, the butterflies in my stomach at the start of every game, the teams we battled against, and the support from the fans. The support from our small town was incredible. I would go to our local grocery store and people I bumped into would say, "Good game last night," or "You girls are going to win next week." For many games during the regular season, the stands were full. But during tournament time, they were packed. The whole town and then some would show up to support us. Alumni would come back from college to watch. Older alumni would bring their families to watch and cheer. The bleachers would be a sea of blue and white, our school colors. And it would get SO LOUD. Every made basket was celebrated. Students and adults jumped out of their seats multiple times. Cheerleaders rallied the fans in chants of support. At times the volume was so high in the gyms that we could barely hear our coach from the bench or even each other out on the floor.

To this day, twenty-five years later, when I go to a high school basketball game, I still get butterflies in my stomach when the pep band is playing in the gym, the smell of popcorn floats through the air, the players' shoes are squeaking on the floor during warm-ups, and then the warm-up clock buzzes, the players are introduced and the refs assemble the teams on the floor for the opening jump ball. Those butterflies are Pavlovian, I suppose. All those sounds, smells, and sights bring back a lot of memories and feelings.

Seven years after my team got so close to the State Tournament, the girls' basketball team DID make it to State for the first time in our school's history. (The boys' one appearance at State happened in 1972.) You can bet that I was there, cheering on those girls. It was an exciting time and support from the community was out in full-force. Signs in store windows, pep rallies, buses full of students, blue and white shirts on everyone, signs being held up at games, a rowdy and excited student section, a loud and proud pep band giving it their all. And it's all happening again right now.

This time it's the boys' basketball team making a run of it towards the State Tournament. And even though I live 50 miles away and haven't been to a game this year, it's all very exciting all over again. My parents go to just about every basketball game, even though they haven't had a child in the school system in 16 years. That's what you do in a small town. You support every team and cheer on kids you have watched grow up. You watch children of second, third, and maybe even fourth generations of families who have been playing basketball for the school for years. Both my dad and my grandpa played basketball at the same high school I did. At least three of the boys on the team this year has a parent that went to high school with me (man, I'm old). Through my parents being fans, I've heard updates and stories about this year's team. My parents took my daughter to her first basketball game last week to watch this team of boys. She's told me that she wouldn't go again because her "heart was too loud in her chest." That means the bass drum in the pep band was loud and she's four so that's the best way she could explain that. To her, the best part of the game was the bag of popcorn she consumed.

I am loving seeing all of the photos on Facebook of all of the boys' games. I love seeing the sea of blue and white sitting in the bleachers. I love seeing the joy and pride on the faces of the fans, players, and parents as this team takes the whole town on an exciting and wild ride. And it's different when it's your own hometown, versus another team you're rooting for. I have two cousins who grew up in a small town, about the same size as mine. When they were in high school they made it to the State Tournament in both football and basketball. And boy, was that an exciting time. I went to several games, cheered for my cousins, cheered for their friends I had gotten to know. But it just isn't the same as when it's your own town playing.

This is one of the best parts of being from a small town...supporting the local high school team, whether it's basketball, football, volleyball, or wrestling. And when it's a season where the team is really good, it's just so unifying for all those fans. There just isn't really anything else like it.

I won't be able to go to the big Sectional game tomorrow and if the boys win and make it to the State Tournament, I won't be able to go to that either. But I'll be cheering from afar! And maybe I'll pop Hoosiers into the DVD player, just for old times' sake.

Billy Graham

Billy Graham finally saw the face of his Savior today, when he passed away and entered Heaven. This morning when the news story broke on the TV station I was watching, they ran a piece highlighting his life and ministry and I cried. My husband and I have had the conversation before on the subject of celebrities dying and that people cry over a person they personally never knew. I told my husband I couldn't think of one celebrity that I would cry about when they die. I was wrong. I've been weepy all morning over Billy Graham's death. But it's not tears over the man so much, as tears over what he meant to so many people, worldwide.

In 2015 we took a family vacation to North Carolina.
We went to a Billy Graham exhibit at a museum in Raleigh.
This was a snapshot I took of one of Billy's Bibles.

Billy Graham was a huge part of the Christian culture where I grew up. Once upon a time, he was the president at the Christian school where I started my college career. He left that position to go into his preaching ministry full-time. His legacy was still felt at that school when I attended over twenty years ago; forty years after he left. Billy's ministry headquarters were also located in the Twin Cities for many years before moving to his home state of North Carolina. He also started the biggest local Christian radio station in the Twin Cities. Yes, the format is very different from when he started it over sixty years ago, but the purpose of the radio station remains the same. To proclaim the gospel. The station reaches millions every day with the good news that Jesus came to save mankind. The ripple effects of Billy's ministry will never be known this side of heaven.

But perhaps the biggest impact of Billy Graham's legacy in my life is the fact that my grandparents went to one of his crusades in 1950 and accepted Christ. Of course, I'm sure that there were many people in my grandparents' lives that contributed to their faith journey. They both grew up going to church. I'm sure their mothers prayed for them. They had Sunday School teachers and pastors who poured into their lives. But Billy Graham was the one that got them to cross the finish line and start their new lives in Christ. The gospel message that Billy spoke that day finally reaped all of the seeds of faith that so many had sown into my grandparents' lives. Because of their decision, they raised six children in a Christian home. My grandma's favorite verse is Joshua 24:15 which says, "But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." And they have served their Savior faithfully together for over 60 years. And because of that, their daughter did the same and raised me in a Christian home that served the Lord. And now, I do the same with my family.

So why am I so weepy today? Good grief, the man was 99. He lived a good, long life. He is in the very presence of Jesus and with his beloved wife, Ruth. I never attended one of Billy Graham's crusades. I did not know the man personally. I think one of the reasons for my tears is because his legacy is part of the fabric woven into my journey of faith. But I think mostly it's because of what he stood for - The Gospel of Jesus Christ. The fact that Jesus left Heaven to come to earth to die on a cross so that sinful mankind can enter into a relationship with God is the most paradoxical event in history. The gospel...so simple a child can understand it. Yet so complicated that biblical scholars have debated it and dissected it for centuries. The gospel...it can humble you to your knees, in a low posture. Yet it can cause you to reach your hands as high as possible, in as big of a posture as you can muster. The gospel...it can make you weep while wearing the biggest smile on your face. The gospel...it brings freedom to those who believe it. Yet some rulers and governments in history have tried to repress it because of their fear. Billy Graham was about one thing - telling as many people as possible around the world the good news of the gospel. His greatest goal was to point others to Christ. He knew that the gospel cannot and will not be stopped. God gave him a giant and far-reaching platform to tell people all over the world. And people listened. They flocked to Billy's crusades by the millions. Because Billy spoke the truth. And it was never about him. It was always about Jesus.

Was Billy Graham perfect? Nope. Far from it. Because no one is perfect. Did Billy realize that he was a sinner and only the saving grace of Jesus Christ could rescue him and give him life? Yes. Does God love Billy Graham more than He loves you? Nope. Will we ever have the scope of ministry Billy was given? Nope. In Mark 25 Jesus told a parable of what Heaven is like. This is the passage of scripture where Jesus is quoted as saying, "Well done, good and faithful servant." Those are the six words that every Christ follower longs to hear when they enter Heaven. I am certain that Billy Graham heard those precious words today. Not because of the number of people he brought to Christ (I don't think God really cares about stats). But rather because he was obedient to God's calling on his life and he did his best for Jesus with what he was given. May we all do the same.