I had an interesting trip to see the doctor yesterday. Due to being hit twice last year while riding, my legs hurt, and are weak-especially going up stairs, walking, and bending. So when I went to see the doctor, guess what exercises are the only ones he didn't make me do? Practice medicine? I guess another trip for evaluation is forthcoming. But even more amazing were the magazines. Not the usual propaganda about mother's milk, and the horrors of green veggies. No telling stories of obesity, or the threat of fluoride. No pretty tri-athletes telling me how good I can have it if I only live like them. Nope, they had real magazines-with pictures and everything. Real magazines-and shock of all shocks-they were current. So I grabbed a Sports Illustrated, which I hadn't read in years, very thin, I thought it was a brochure at first, and quickly looked at the pictures. Until the last page, where an article caught my attention, so I read it-twice. It talked about NFL players, and how they have found that for every year played, their lives were shortened proportionately. At 40, their bodies taking on the characteristics of a 65 year old. It was that dramatic. We have seen how concussions have been in the headlines for the past few years, but this went beyond.
Seems that the commissioner wants an 18 game season, "for the fans," he insists. Even though he is aware that blood on Sunday means bruises on Tuesday, he is pushing for it. For the fans, although since revenues are significantly lower for pre-season games, by making them part of the season, revenues will increase-paid for by the fans. For the fans. And one player shared that how at 33, his career was over due to knee injuries. Washed up. And how when he was supposed to be in the twilight of his career, but still young, instead of taking his kids to school, and playing with them, and being more of a presence as a dad, he was spending six weeks in a recovery center due to the surgeries. And will learn to walk with a cane. In pain. And was in with the senior citizens, who he had little in common with. He liked the older folks, but one day when a lady said, "hey, aren't you Mrs. Jones boy?" it hit him how much the game had taken from him. From NFL receiver to the Jones boy. It took only a few short years, and he wondered the value of it, as he hobbled, leaning against the railing on the wall. He had given his body-for the fans.
"Oh that boy, that's Joe and Mary's kid. He's down here a lot lately asking questions. But they aren't the kind you ask if you don't know, but the kind you ask if you are questioning our integrity. It's like he knows the answers before He asks. These same men come to hear Him everyday, He has established quite a following-fans of a sort." And as the visiting Pharisee nodded in agreement, he too wanted to listen more, as he had also heard of Jesus, but his duties under the many laws of the Pharisees precluded such a time. But still fascinated by what he heard this teenager say, he wondered-"how could he know so much at such a young age? And why was he here, with a group of older men, in the temple, when he should be out hangin' with his friends-or even at work with his dad-they were carpenters, reputation had it they made some great yokes for the farmer's oxen. How could this tradesman know so much about the things of God? Weren't those things reserved for the special ones like us?" Someday, he would like to meet him. Maybe talk with Him alone. Without the other Pharisees, His fans, gathered around Him.
Someday usually doesn't come, although God is patient. These divine interventions, these chance meetings, are choreographed by God for you to meet His son Jesus. But some are too busy. "Hey, I know his parents, heard a rumor that said Joe wasn't his real dad." Maybe later, when I am done with my career, and have time. "I don't know, this religious thing-for kids and old ladies-LOL!" "I thought they had rules-how can this kid teach among such great religious men as the Pharisees? Maybe they aren't as perfect as they tell everyone they are. Hypocrites!" Losers always have time for excuses.
And I could go on, but we have all made these same lame excuses about Jesus. So I'm going to ask-are you saved? Have you met Jesus, and given your life to Him? If not, you are lost! Those are God's words, not mine. And you need Him! Right now is that divine intervention-that time that God wants to hear from you! He is asking, "Who do you say Jesus is?"
He is patient-and even though Peter, a tough, old fisherman, denied Jesus three times to a little girl, when confronted by a resurrected Christ, He was found fit to minister-a short time later sharing at Pentecost and seeing 3000 come to Christ. You may not be a Peter, but wouldn't it be nice to go to sleep tonight knowing that if you died in your sleep, heaven awaits? Or are you afraid of what your friends, team mates, wife, or church may say? Do it soon, for Jesus only made it to 33 himself before He was crucified, His career cut short. Tomorrow is promised for no man.
I imagine the doctor will get another chance with me, hopefully some stair tests this time, and there will be more magazines to read there. And the NFL will carry on-for the good of the fans, although sacrificing the player's health. Just two more games per season-just a few more steps along the wall, just a few years more with a cane. And maybe another opportunity in the season of your life to meet Jesus.
Jesus Christ-who gave it all-for His fans. And long before they even knew they were. While we were yet sinners, He died for us. He may be Joe and Mary's kid, but God's only son. The only way to heaven.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogpsot.com
