Getting Out of Dodge....


I know what it's like leaving town defeated.

It's well known that in small towns, high school sports is king. In Texas it's football, but in Brownsboro Texas it's girls basketball. Over the past 22 years our team has been to the playoffs 22 times. State tournament 5 times. '94 was supposed to be our year. That team had the most all-around talent of any team in the state. Carrie Foy-- six foot three and averaged around 30 points a game. Marcy Bruner who was short but dominated the boards-- regularly taking down 15-20 rebounds a game. Michelle olson, point guard who controlled the court like a female Jason Kidd. Two of my best friends in high school (who incidentally hated each other) Gina Clayton and Hallee Ashlee, the younger sister of my best friend growing up who hit nine three pointers in a game against the #3 team in the state. The state tournament was ours to take. But we didn't take it. Waco La Vega, led by the 43 point game of Katrina Price, a girl who would later be drafted into the WNBA and then commit suicide, was too much for us in the first round.

The citizens of Brownsboro, Murchison, and Chandler left Austin that day totally defeated. You could tell it in our faces when we all stopped on the way home to eat dinner. Few people talked. Those who did kept trying to convince themselves that it wasn't a big deal. (One of my dad's ritual sayings after a huge Brownsboro defeat is "Well, I aint going to lose any sleep over it. That is followed by a night of pacing around the house.)

Three years ago a girl with whom I had romantic feelings for when I was in Estonia visited Texas. I left Waco to meet her at the airport in Houston with the intention of telling her how I felt about her and how the distance was something that didn't matter to me. I had flowers for her. Nice flowers.

After a few days of periodically visiting with her in College Station I proved that, at that point, I had no balls and never mentioned my feelings for her. Knowing it wouldn't possibly be years before I'd ever see her again, I drove back to Waco in a state of grief. Crying my eyes out. I was defeated, by my own insecurities.


I've always read the account of the men walking towards Emmaus in a different way. For some reason I've always figured they were just trying to put what happened with Jesus behind them and go off to find another work, maybe even another Messiah. Down, but not out.

But as I was reading it yesterday I had this thought..."These guys have just metaphorically had their tails whupped." Just seven days before they had entered Jerusalem as victors. Crowds were following them because of their association with Jesus. The city-dwellers no doubt asked them what it was like being around the Messiah. I'm sure their heads got pretty big.

And then death. Defeat.

I only know what it's like leaving town when my team has lost or I have lost at love. Every last thing these guys had hoped for was lost. Their lives were shattered.

And then a man began to walk beside them, unnoticed, and inquired as to what they were talking about. They acted like he was stupid. Having been so close to Jerusalem and yet not hearing about Jesus. It would have been as iff someone was eating lunch on the grassy knoll on November 22, 1963 and didn't hear about JFK's assasination. It is clear from the tone of their conversation that they didn't believe the ladies when they said Jesus was risen. And, culturally, why should they? Women knew nothing. They assumed the body was stolen. Indicating not only defeat, but humiliation.

How interesting it is that these guys thought they were walking down the road defeated, but right next to them Victory Personified was strolling casually along.