A whine and a thank you

By Joe Rector

It’s been one of those weeks. The hot weather has whipped me to the point that I don’t want to do much more than sit in the family room and nap. I’ve not slept well for a couple of nights, and that made for long, tiring days. When these forces unite, my mind starts to wander, and I begin listing all my failures in life.

I’ve always wanted to be a good athlete. Jim and I used to play catch in the front yard, but we spent most of the time chasing wild pitches from each other. A gnarled, angry rambling rose bush captured the ball most often. Attempts to free the ball usually left arms and hands bleeding with scratches. Sometimes, a thorn embedded itself in a finger, and the place stayed sore for days.

I was a right fielder on every team of which I was a member. My batting average never broke .100, and my attempts to stop hot grounders ended in my chasing the balls.

Fat boys play line in football, but my dream was to become a star receiver. Of course, I ran too slowly, my hands were too small, and my route-running was weak. I played freshman football, and sure enough, I made a home for myself at left guard. I also played middle linebacker. No, I hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do at either position, so I can only assume that I played because coaches credited me with good plays that my brother Jim and I made. Headaches that blinded me with pain put an end to my playing days. I could never perform assignments, but I could teach them to players, those who played on freshman teams that I coached.

These days, I want to be a decent golfer. Notice that I made no mention of my true abilities. I’d conquered using my irons, but lately, I can’t hit them worth a darn. My chipping used to be the best part of my game, but even it has abandoned me. My so-called abilities are more like embarrassments. I bought a new driver, and it has given me more success off the tee, but I’m still short on distance compared to others in my foursome.

For years, I’ve enjoyed singing. Even in elementary school, I sang in countywide groups. In high school, I was in choir for three years, as well as madrigals and a double barbershop quartet. I even performed in the men’s glee club for a couple of years. During the last years of my teaching career, my voice began to weaken until I couldn’t speak a word. Years of smoking, yelling and teaching took their tolls. My singing days ended.

I joined the church choir last year to see if I could croak a tune. I also began lessons with Gage Sharp, the church director and a wonderful coach. He worked with me until I could actually hit most of the notes in a song. I wanted more: to sing with the praise band. Gage patiently worked with me until he thought I was ready to sing a solo. I was nervous but managed to get through the song.

I listened to the video of my performance, and I was disappointed. My voice was okay, but nothing more. I wasn’t close to being able to sing as well as some of the members of the praise group. In a world of solos, I’m only a bass singer in a choir.

I suppose most readers are saying I’m feeling sorry for myself. I agree. The point is that I want to be special in some way; I want to make a difference or inspire others. The goal of being at the top of something in life has never come true.

I know that my life has been blessed with many things. Amy, for some reason or another, married me and has stayed with me through good and bad. I have two children of whom I am proud and who have grown to be good people who are responsible, dependable, and loveable. The good Lord’s plans for my life are much different from the ones I had. I know who is in charge and give my thanks for His love, mercy, and guidance. So, I can make each day I have left better by realizing that. Thank you, Lord.