Author: Dale McGavran

She really had no aspirations to be a runner.  It was her science teacher that saw the potential in the young girl.  One day after school, he was sitting on a train awaiting its departure, when he noticed her running toward it.  He thought there was no way she was going to get to the train before it pulled out of the station.  But the next thing he knew, she was sitting down next to him on the train.  What followed seemed like destiny.  He received permission for her to train with the Thornton High School men’s track team.  An invitation to join the Illinois Women’s Athletic Club came shortly after that.  To say that she had natural talent would be the understatement of the century.  In her very first official race, the 60-yard dash, she finished second to Helen Filkey, the world record holder in the 100-meter.  Just two days later, on June 2, 1928, she beat Filkey in the 100-meter, tying the world record time.  However, because of wind speed on the day of the race, it would not count.  No matter…the record would be her’s soon enough.  With such an incredible start, the trajectory of this young phenom would surprise no one.

Betty Robinson was truly a surprise discovery.  What happened next is utterly unbelievable.  Her next event was the Amsterdam Olympics.  What you need to realize at this point is this, it was Betty’s third 100-meter competition!  Not her twentieth or fiftieth.  She hadn’t been running for years.  She was 16 years old, and this was her third competition.  It would be normal to think that when running against the best of the world, at the Olympics, that she would perform well enough, but certainly not win.  Except, that is exactly what she did.  She won the 100-meter race…the youngest athlete ever to win the 100-meter gold medal.  A few days later, Betty added to her medal count with a silver in the 4×100 meter relay.

Betty returned to the United States and enrolled at Northwestern College.  She began training alongside the school track team with the hopes of competing at the 1932 Olympics in Los Angeles.  In her free time, she began pursuing her pilot’s license.  Life was great.  Then on June 28, 1931, Betty took off from the local runway and began the ascent into the clear blue sky.  Suddenly something went wrong and the plane nosedived into the ground.  A truck driver who happened to be passing by, saw the plane crash and rushed to the scene.  Fearing that she was dead, he pulled her from the wreckage.  Surprisingly, Betty had survived the crash, but she went into a coma.  When she was discharged from the hospital 11 weeks later, she had metal pins in her joints and one of her legs was shorter than the other.  This girl, who, only three years earlier had won a gold medal at the Olympics, was now told by doctors she would never run again.  You probably know how this is going to go.

Betty refused to let the doctors be right.  Slowly she began to heal…and by slowly I mean SLOWLY.  She was in a wheelchair for months, and could not walk without assistance for nearly two years.  But she eventually did get better.  But there was one aspect that would hold her back.  Because of her injuries, she was not able to crouch into the starter’s position.  So, in spite of gaining her speed back, she would not be able to compete in the Olympics again.  I know what you’re thinking right about now…not the ending you expected.  However, if you noticed the length of this blog, you are going to know this was not the ending.

Betty had tasted success and was going to do everything in her power to get it back.  She was reminded of the relay event where she won the silver medal in the Amsterdam Olympics.  The second, third, and fourth runners in the relay did not have to start in the crouch position.  Perhaps there was hope Betty could return to compete in the 4×100 relay at the 1936 Berlin Olympics.  So, she began training, and made the team!  Betty would be the third runner on the relay team.  The United States team made it through the qualifying heats and to the final race.  The Germans were heavily favored to win the gold, and when the starting gun fired, the Germans took a commanding lead.  By the time it came to handing the baton to the fourth runner, there was no doubt who was going win…the favored Germans.  But then a mistake occurred.  The Germans dropped the baton during the transfer and opened a window of opportunity for the Americans.  Betty cleanly handed the baton to Helen Stephens, the anchor runner for the United States.  In a clear upset, the United States won gold.  Betty now owned two golds and one silver, and would retire from running competitively upon returning home.

Betty’s life opens the door to a lot of questions.  What if Betty never saw her potential as a runner?   What if she had not performed well in those first two races?  What if the Women’s Club did not invite her to join?  But most importantly, what if that science teacher hadn’t been there that day to witness Betty running for the train?  In an instant, that teacher saw something in Betty.  Something that made it worth the effort to pursue her.  We all have that same experience.  No…not all of us have some coach trying to recruit us.  We have something better.

Francis Thompson captured it best in his poem, “The Hound of Heaven.”  It is the beautiful picture of God pursuing those he loves…us.

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;

I fled Him, down the arches of the years;

I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways

We run a 5k trying to get away…God runs a marathon.  We up the ante and run a marathon ourselves…God runs an ultra-marathon.  We speed up, thinking we have a world record pace…God breaks the sound barrier.  We hide, hearkening back to the days of our childhood when, playing hide and seek, no one would find us, and ending with the seeker eventually giving up, and yelling “olly olly oxen free”…God does us one better…and tells us that there is nowhere we can hide that he can’t find us.  We resist hard…and God, somehow, someway, finds a way to pursue us even harder.  God sees in us what we do not see in ourselves.

We go through life with, not metal pins, but mental pains.  We limp along unbalanced, not because one leg is shorter due to a pilot error, but because we have not learned the truth that God does not desire to be, nor will he allow being relegated to the co-pilot seat.  We don’t need physical therapy so we can walk again, but spiritual therapy so we can run again.  Coaches everywhere spur their runners on, hoping for them to win, to set world records, and to win trophies.  Likewise, God wants us to run.  Not for a trophy.  Not for a track record.  But for something better…a life that honors him who pursued us at all costs.  And the reward that awaits us in the end?  Much better than any Olympic gold medal.

Vernon Baker found cover as the second round of artillery began pounding the German lines.  Baker and his men had already ascended the first of three hills on their way to the objective – Castle Aghinolfi, southeast of Genoa, Italy.  With the artillery salvo reaching its conclusion at 0900 hours, Baker led his men up further.  It wasn’t long before he saw the first signs of German soldiers.  He raised his gun and fired, killing two of them before they had the chance to fire on the Americans.  Baker killed two more just a few yards further up the hill, and then came upon a gun nest with two more enemy soldiers.  Baker dropped them as well with a few short bursts of gunfire.  

With Baker taking the lead, one would have assumed he was in command.  But he was not.  Captain John Runyon was commanding this day’s mission.  What occurred next would reveal just who was in charge.  Advancing further up Hill Y, Runyon and Baker came face to face with a German soldier, who upon seeing the Americans, pulled out a grenade, threw it, and then turned and ran.  Baker immediately shot the retreating German.  Runyon, meanwhile, screamed in fright and fell back.  Fortunately for them both, the grenade was a dud.  

Baker searched the dead German’s body for any information.  When he turned back, Runyon was gone.  Baker told the remaining men that he was going to advance up the hill alone to see what lay ahead.  He soon came upon a cave dugout protected by a car door.  He could not pry it loose so he stuck a grenade in it and blew it off.  A German poked his head out after the blast.  Baker shot him.  He then proceeded into the mouth of the cave and triggered a few bursts.  He waited a few moments and then entered, finding three more dead German soldiers.  Having cleared this, he advanced even further up the hill, coming upon a brush-covered opening.  He dropped another grenade in, killing three more enemy soldiers.  At this point, Baker felt like he needed to return to his men, so he began to descend down the hill.  Reaching the remnants of his platoon, he asked where Runyon went.  One of the sergeants pointed to a spot where the captain lay frozen in fear.

Seeing Baker approach, Runyon came to his senses, and informed him that he would return back down the hill and send reinforcements.  Baker was furious, but there was nothing he could do…Runyon was a captain, Baker a lieutenant.  After a short break in the action, American artillery began firing back up the hill.  The Germans responded with their own.  Now, Baker and his remaining eight platoon members hunkered down.  After what seemed like an eternity, the shelling stopped.  Then the unimaginable occurred.

A group of Germans dressed as medics suddenly appeared, carrying litters.  Baker’s suspicions were on high alert.  And for good reason.  In an instant, the Germans pulled blankets off the litters, revealing guns.  Baker and his men wasted no time.  They took them out before the Germans could get off a shot.  At this point, Baker believed that reinforcements were not going to show.  It was time to get back down to the base.  On the descent, with Baker in the lead, the Americans discovered another machine gun nest.  Once again, Baker took it upon himself to eliminate the threat, killing two more Germans.

Baker arrived at the bottom of the hill with just seven men.  They were exhausted.  It had been 12 hours of constant fighting.  A messenger found Baker and told him that the battalion commander wanted to see him.  Colonel Murphy wanted to hear what had transpired directly from Baker.  Finding the colonel in his tent, Baker rehashed the mission’s events, even leaving out the part about Captain Runyon.  As Baker turned to leave, Colonel Murphy told him that they had a done a good job.  It wasn’t until later that Baker learned that Captain Runyon had also stopped by Colonel Murphy’s tent while Baker and his men were up the hill fighting.  Runyon informed the commander that Baker and the platoon had all been killed.  No reinforcements were ever going to come.

A few months later, Baker was summoned to Genoa, where he was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross.  This should have been an incredible moment for the lieutenant.  And it was.  But seven months after Baker got the medal pinned on his chest, Captain Runyon was also awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his bravery on that hill at Castle Aghinolfi.  His citation read like a fantasy, because, well, it was.  Everything in it was an exact description of what Baker did…not Runyon.  However, that is not the end of Vernon Baker’s story.

Fifty-two years later, Vernon Baker stood in the White House as President Bill Clinton placed the Medal of Honor around his neck.  What had been unknown until just a few years before his ceremony on this day, was that the United States Army had denied awarding the nation’s highest honor to Baker.  Baker knew nothing of the attempt to award him the MOH.  He retired from the Army in 1968, and had worked with the Red Cross for 20 years.  The incredibly disappointing conclusion Vernon Baker’s story is this; the Army denied Baker being awarded the MOH, not because his actions on that day in April 1945 were not heroic enough…not because he was just a lieutenant…not because Runyon tried to take credit for what he had done.  No, Baker was denied the Medal of Honor for 52 years because of the color of his skin.  You see, Vernon Baker was a black man.  

While our nation’s military has made leaps and bounds in working to eliminate discrimination, we know that there is still work to be done.  For Baker and the families of six other black soldiers (awarded posthumously), that day in the White House, was a day in which courage was shown to have no melanin limitations.

We should be reminded that God views all of us from the same lens.  Let us practice the same.    “If you really fulfill the royal law according to the Scripture, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself,’ you do well; but if you show partiality, you commit sin, and are convicted by the law as transgressors.”  James 2:8-9

I was browsing through some stories on the internet, and after a couple of clicks, I came across the story of Helmuth Hübener.  To say that I was shocked and inspired at the same time would be an understatement.  Hübener was a German boy who found himself in a war against tyranny.  It started when he was 10, and was forced to join the Hitler Youth.  What Hübener heard everyday from those around him was that the Nazis were gloriously winning every battle, giving righteous praise to their objectives.  However, he was soon going to discover the real truth.

One day Hübener was listening to his brother’s short-wave radio.  He had to listen in secret because the Nazis prohibited anyone to listen to any news that came from an outside source.  This day he had tuned into the BBC, and he could not believe what he was hearing.  What the broadcaster was saying was completely different from what the young boy heard from friends, family and co-workers.  Apparently, Germany was not succeeding as well as they purported.

When Hübener turned 13, he quit the Hitler Youth after they played a part in Kristallnacht, a night in which Nazi sympathizers destroyed synagogues and set fire to Jewish property.  This would prove to be a sign of things to come when Hitler directed the deaths of millions of Jews in the Holocaust.  By the way, Whoopi, it was about race.

Enlightened by truth, Hübener began talking to others about what he had heard and how he felt.  He discovered that others felt the same way.  With the help of a few friends, he printed pamphlets based on information obtained from the BBC broadcasts, leaving them in phone booths and on bulletin boards.  He did this, all while knowing the risk of being discovered.  And that is exactly what happened.

A co-worker in the social administration saw him writing the pamphlets and turned him in to Nazi party officials.  He and his friends were arrested and thrown into the Plötzensee prison.  For the next ten weeks they were tortured while they waited for their trial.  Refusing to back down, he confronted the judges about the atrocities the Nazis were committing.  When the trial ended, Hübener was found guilty and sentenced to death.  His friends were sentenced to labor camps.  Hübener had the opportunity to speak before his sentencing.  Hübener told them, “I have to die now for no crime at all.  Your turn is next.”  On October 27, 1942, Hübener was beheaded.  He was 17.

As I wrote at the beginning…I was both shocked and inspired by Hübener’s story.  Shocked that a tyrannical organization would execute a 17-year old.  Yet inspired that someone so young would stand up to a very powerful force.  We often hear the expression, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil, is for good men to do nothing.”  Hübener chose to do something, even when it was immeasurably easier to do nothing.  

History has a unique way of repeating itself.  It may not be the 1940s, and we may not be talking about Nazi Germany today, but Europe is facing another crisis that seems eerily familiar.  Russia is on the move, crossing borders and taking land that belongs to others.  Hitler is long dead, but tyrannical leaders are not.  Putin and his ilk will always be.  Fortunately for the world, Hübeners will always be as well.  We desperately need more Hübeners…those that witness abuses, barbaric acts, violations of human dignity, savagery…and refuse to stay silent.  Let me close with this final thought.  The Apostle Paul summarized it best, when penning a letter to the church in Rome, he wrote, “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”  Eleven words so aptly reflected in the life of 17-year old Helmuth Hübener.

In horse racing, there is the Triple Crown.  It’s made up of the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont Stakes.  The Kentucky Derby is the youngest of the three races, created in 1875.  The three races were not referred to as the Triple Crown until 1930, and was not officially called it until 1950.  In the entire history of the three races,  only 13 horses have won all three races in the same year.  So obviously it’s a rare occurrence.  

In the founding history of our nation, there are two primary documents…the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.  There are a combined 95 signatures on the two documents.  *Cue the deep voiced narrator of Law and Order…“In the history of the United States, there were two documents written by two separate but equally important groups of people; the Second Continental Congress, and the Constitutional Convention.  These are their stories. (bump bump)”  Now, because of the timing, and the organization of the separate gatherings of men, most only signed either the Declaration of Independence, or the Constitution.  However, there were six men who actually signed both…another historical rarity.  George Read was one of those men.  Teaser alert…like Secretariat and the other 12 Triple Crown winners, Read had a triple crown moment of his own.

Read was born in Maryland but his family moved to Delaware early in his life.  He studied law in Philadelphia, and perhaps, because of a couple of guys who were up to no good, and who started making trouble in the neighborhood, he moved.  Not to Bel Air, but to New Castle, Delaware.  Once settled in, he started working for the British government as an attorney general.  But in 1765, Britain imposed the Stamp Tax, and Read was not happy.  He resigned from his position and became a member of the Delaware legislature.  If you thought that because he quit his job working for the King, that he was a die hard fighter for independence from the Crown, you would be wrong.  He certainly despised the tax, but he was not for independence at that particular moment.  On July 2, 1776, when the Second Continental Congress called for a vote on independence, Read voted no.  However, the majority of the men gathered in Philadelphia wanted to break from Britain, so he went ahead and signed the Declaration of Independence.  In the end, he did so because he felt like he had to go along.  The rest is history.  The Americans won the war, and obtained their independence.  Read should have gone on to retirement; after all he was 64 years old.  But he had more work in him.  When some members felt like representation should be based on population, it was Read who argued that each state should have equal representation.  His argument won the day, and that is why we have two senators from each state no matter what the population..equal representation, thanks to George Read.

I hinted earlier at Read’s triple crown moment.  As I said, he signed the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.  So that is two.  Where is the third?  Well, when the Constitution was being ratified, his friend and fellow Delaware delegate John Dickinson, could not be present.  So Dickinson instructed Read to sign in his place.  So if you look at the Constitution today, you will see George Read’s signature first in the Delaware grouping.  Two lines below is John Dickinson’s signature…except that it isn’t.  It’s where George Read signed John Dickinson’s name, making Read the only one to have signed three times, and hence, his triple crown moment.

In the early morning of February 3, 1943, the German submarine U-223, patrolled the icy waters of the North Atlantic searching for Allied targets to sink.  She discovered a six ship convoy that included the U.S.A.T. Dorchester, an Army transport ship sailing for a base in Greenland.  At 12:55 A.M., the U-boat commander gave the order to fire on the Dorchester.  Seconds later the torpedo struck its target and gravely damaged the ship.  The Dorchester would sink in less than 30 minutes.  Six hundred and seventy-five men died when she went down.

Though it represents the greatest loss in any World War II American ship convoy, the sinking of U.S.A.T. Dorchester is known for something completely different.  Packed in with the others aboard the ship were four men whose actions taken at that early hour instantly inspired those present, and whose actions continue to inspire those who hear their story.  George L. Fox, Alexander B. Goode, John P. Washington, and Clark V. Poling…names that most people do not recognize.  

Aboard the Dorchester was not the first time George Fox found himself in the crosshairs of the enemy and putting the needs of others ahead of his own.  During the First World War, fighting near the Champagne region in France, Fox removed his own gas mask and placed it on a wounded soldier before carrying him to safety.  In another instance, Fox did the same thing to a French soldier, instantly earning him the Croix de Guerre, France’s highest decoration.  It seemed as though personal sacrifice ebbed through Fox’s veins.

Alexander Goode excelled in sports and in the classroom, receiving among other things, a PhD from Johns Hopkins University.  He wanted to be a rabbi like his father.  He also desired to become a chaplain for the U.S. Navy.  Initially turned down, he reapplied after the attack on Pearl Harbor, and this time was accepted to the U.S. Army Chaplain Corps.  He would later meet his three brothers-in-arms while stationed at Camp Myles Standish in Massachusetts.  

John Washington knew early on that God called him to the priesthood.  Service and helping others were in his blood.  When the family struggled to make it, young John took a job delivering newspapers.  But his call to the clergy almost did not happen.  Once when John returned home from school, he fell ill with a fever.  The doctor could not get the fever down and eventually John fell unconscious.  Fearing the worst, the doctor called for a priest to anoint and bless John.  Desperately needing a miracle, they got one the next morning.  John’s fever broke.  He later told his parents that God must have saved him for something.

Clark Poling seemed destined to follow his father’s footsteps.  Graduating from Rutgers University and then Yale Divinity School, Clark became, like his father Daniel, a minister.  Young Clark believed in the goodness of all men until the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.  One day he commented about enlisting and going to Europe to join the fighting, but that he would not become a chaplain like his father, who had served during the First World War.  Eventually Clark’s father persuaded him to join the chaplaincy and work to help other men who fought on the front lines.  Little did Daniel know that the ship which carried Clark and hundreds of others would come under attack from a German submarine, much like the ship that carried him to war more than 20 years earlier.

Four men, living four completely different lives, yet somehow inextricably connected.  They developed a special bond during those days of waiting in Massachusetts that became quite noticeable when the Dorchester set sail.  Soldiers on board remembered how the four chaplains from different faiths came together as if they had known each other for years.  Many had never seen a Catholic and a Protestant get along so well.  This would serve the chaplains well in the days to come, and especially on that fateful morning when their selfless acts would save many of the men aboard the ship.  

To fully understand, we need to know how this unfolded.  After the Dorchester left the New York harbor, the captain received word that U-boats were patrolling the waters looking for easy prey.  He ordered the men aboard to wear their warmest clothing and to put on their life jackets, but because of the heat in the ship’s lower deck compartments, many did not heed the captain’s command.  Others ignored him because the life jackets were not comfortable to wear.  This decision would soon come to haunt many aboard.  

When the torpedo struck, instant chaos ensued.  The electricity went out and men stumbled to find their way in the dark, most leaving their life jackets behind.  Many would never make it out from the below deck compartments.  Those that did find their way to the deck scrambled for the lifeboats.  In the disorder and confusion, men overcrowded the boats causing many of them to capsize, spilling the men into the freezing water.  Seeing this, the ship’s captain called upon the four chaplains to calm the men and to organize the evacuation.  As men reached the deck from below, Fox, Goode, Washington, and Poling would hand them a life jacket, uttering words of peace and calm in the hopes of quieting the men.  However, with most of the issued life jackets still below deck, the chaplains ran out very quickly.  When this happened, the most selfless act occurred.  One by one, each chaplain took off his own life jacket and gave it to a man who was without.

Many who survived the sinking would later testify to the final moments before the Dorchester slipped below the water’s surface.  They noticed the four chaplains linked arm in arm, praying in accordance with each man’s faith.  Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.  The four chaplains perfectly embodied these words of Jesus.  On this day these men were leaders with a purpose.

We were led to believe in our history lessons in grade school that on April 18, 1775, Paul Revere rode through the night to warn that the British were coming.  In fact, there were multiple riders that night who spread the message across the countryside.  Of the multitude, there were three primary riders – Revere, William Dawes, and Samuel Prescott.  If you are a Costco shopper, you might be thinking that if you could get three riders instead of just one, it would be better, because three is always better than one.  And you would be correct, except for this…of the three, only Prescott reached Concord in time to warn the residents that British troops were approaching.  You see, all three were captured by British sentries and detained.  However, at some point, Prescott was able to jump his horse over a stone wall and escape.  A short time later, Dawes also escaped, but fell off his horse and had to walk back to Boston.  Right about now you might be questioning the “prisoner-taking” capabilities of the British soldiers.  Maybe because Prescott and Dawes had escaped, the British guarded Revere more closely.  We don’t know.  What we do know is that he was eventually released, but without his horse.  All three of the men helped the revolutionary cause that night, but Longfellow’s poem probably should have given the credit to Samuel Prescott.  Or perhaps Longfellow could have written about a similar event that happened a couple of years later.

It’s April 26, 1777, two years after the rides of Revere, Dawes, and Prescott.  On this night, another ride will take place, though it will not get the attention of a famous poet.  The British are once again on the move, this time for the supply depot located in Danbury, Connecticut.  If they capture the depot, it will be a major loss for the Patriot cause.  The problem for the Americans though, is that planting season occurs in late April, and all of the men have returned home to their farms.  Colonel Henry Ludington, the commander of the local militia, has to get word to his men that he needs for them to grab their guns and head back for battle.  Borrowing a page from the Revere method of operations, he has to find a rider to make the grueling trip.  With no real options outside of his own family, he enlists his oldest child, Sybil.  She will have to be the one to make the 30-40 mile trip on horseback to call the militia to arms.  

At 9:00 PM Sybil saddles up her horse and begins the journey to wake up the rag tag bunch of farmers turned soldiers.  She rides from farm to farm, banging on doors and windows yelling instructions for them to meet at the Ludington farm.  At around daybreak she arrives back home, with her mission complete.  In a war that has seen its share of American disappointment, this will energize the revolution and see momentum shift.  Except that it doesn’t.  The awakened men do not reach Danbury in time.  The British burn the supplies, including stockpiles of food, medicine, and clothes.  From there, the British march to Ridgefield, where they meet some resistance from the Patriots.  However, it is not until after the British start to return to the beach and their ships that Ludington’s company of militia arrive, and an ensuing skirmish occurs.  Though not a full blown battle, the Americans do expedite the British troops’ return to their ships.

Though Sybil’s ride gets nowhere near the attention of Revere’s, it is such an important story on many levels.  First, we don’t have enough examples of courageous women in our history books.  While it’s true that the men she awakened did not make it in time to save Danbury, it does not in the least diminish her actions.  To set out alone and ride in the rain through the night for miles and miles, while British soldiers monitored roads threatening to take captive anyone they thought looked suspicious, was a scary proposition.  After all, they had a couple more years of “prisoner-taking” training under their belts.  Add the fact she was a 16 year-old girl, and it makes the event even more incredible.  Second, we should remember that courage, bravery, integrity, and character are not dependent on a specific outcome.  The British still burned Danbury in spite of Sybil’s ride though the night.  But her courage was on full display every minute of that ride.   Third, heroes, especially the unknown ones, exceed explanation.  A 16 year-old farm girl rides like the wind, defying the British empire.  It should be front page news.   No one would have ever believed a teenage girl capable of racing against all odds for the revolutionary cause, so instead of the front page, her story is rarely mentioned.

I’m reminded of what 1 Samuel 16:7 says – “man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”  Sybil Ludington and Paul Revere could not have been more different from all outward appearances.  But on the inside, they were both liberty-minded riders on a revolutionary mission.  It’s a reminder, courage wears many faces…including that of a teenage girl.

“You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”  That is one of the more famous lines from a movie that has haunted me since my childhood.  It’s why I won’t go swimming in the ocean.  You might recognize the quote from Chief Brody in the movie “Jaws” as he discovers the behemoth shark that has been feasting on swimmers off the coast of Amity Island.  “That’s a 20 footer,” says Matt Hooper the shark expert.  “25” responds Quint, the boat’s captain.  It is at this point where you realize that planning was not high on the list of priorities for this expedition to kill the shark.  After all, Hooper knew it was an exceptionally large shark based on his examination of the remains of the first victim.  If he was the shark expert he claimed to be, he would have extrapolated the size of the bites and from there determined the length of the shark.  You might also remember the scene where vandals have painted a huge shark fin on the Amity billboard.  Hooper is quick to point out that it is anatomically correct.  In other words, it is a massive great white shark.  But here they are in a 40-foot boat, in the deep blue, hunting a 25-foot fish with…enormous jaws.  The mathematician might say that the boat to shark ratio is less than optimal.

If you think about it, you really shouldn’t blame Hooper though.  People can be notoriously poor planners, if they plan at all.  When they do plan, too often they think those plans are solid gold.  And if you are anything like me, you know that things rarely play out like they are planned.  But we try nonetheless.

It doesn’t take a lot of work to find those in our past who planned for things to go one way, only to have them go another.  This week I want to introduce you to another Hooper whose plan did not go as well as he thought it would.  This Hooper’s first name is William, and he was a signer of the Declaration of Independence.  William was a North Carolinian who has been called the “prophet of independence” because he wrote a letter to a friend in which he stated that the colonies were soon going to establish a new constitution built on the ruins of British rule.  During the American Revolution, like many of his compatriots, the British took revenge on him by destroying his two homes.  As a result, he became separated from his family and he was forced to flee into the countryside.  Traveling through the woods and swamps, he contracted malaria from which he suffered the remaining eight years of his life.  He planned on his circumstances improving with the American victory, but instead, they got worse.  He was disliked by the Loyalists because of his anti-British sentiments, and disliked by the patriots because he refused to enforce reprisals against the Loyalists after the British were defeated.  He went from a prophet of independence to a partner in impecuniosity.     Things just didn’t work out like he thought they would.  But then things rarely do.

Matt and William succumbed to the saying, “The best laid plans of mice and men can still go wrong”.  Robert Burns might have written the basis of that statement in 1785, but it hardly originated with him.  Solomon recorded in Proverbs 16:9 that man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.  Matt, William, and Robert may have approached the problem of planning not working out because, well, things don’t always work out.  But Solomon had a different idea.  He believed that though there existed an element of human planning, God, through his divine purpose, was guiding the whole outcome.  That may be hard to let sink in because we want to feel in-control.  We take the time to work out the carefully crafted details, and now we want things to go the exact way we planned.  And all along God is compassionately saying, yes, make your plans, but know that it is I who directs your steps.

I am thankful for the Matts and Williams of the world.  They give me hope that I am not the only one who believes my planning is good and solid (maybe not gold though), only to see how wrong I was.  I’ve lived through thousands of days worth of plans, and can honestly say that relatively few ended how I originally envisioned they would.  I can also honestly say that I am not disappointed because things didn’t work out like I thought they would, because as we have already seen, things rarely do.

We’ve all heard the adage “sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me”.  If only.  We know that name calling and giving people ridiculing nicknames can cause harm.  You’ve heard them, maybe even been called them, or worse, used them against others.  “Four eyes,” “brace face,” “nerd,” “shorty”…the list goes on.  No one is exempt from barbs.  Some pretty famous people were given nicknames.  Patton was “Old Blood and Guts”.  Winfield Scott was “Old Fuss and Feathers”.  Grover Cleveland was “Uncle Jumbo”.  William Henry Harrison, who served the shortest term as President, was “Old Granny”.  Still others didn’t rise to the level of official nicknames, but had physical descriptives tied to their fame.  Napoleon was short.  Lincoln was tall and gangly. 

The commonality in all of these names is that they are based, correctly or incorrectly, on something that is distinct to that person, something they said, or something about their appearance.  Cleveland earned the nickname because of his size.  Scott garnered his because he was overly concerned with how he looked.  And well, I think you probably get the picture about Napoleon (surprise ahead…keep reading) and Lincoln. 

Attaching nicknames to people is almost always bad.  It rarely leads to anything positive.  Flip open your Bible to 2 Kings 2:23-24 to see the extreme tragic results of name calling.  But, what if?  What if there were good nicknames (allow me some leeway in defining what a nickname is)?  What if, instead of four eyes, you were called a child of God?  What if, instead of belonging to the nerd group, you were a card-carrying member of a royal priesthood?  What if you were not a loser, but a victor?  What if you were not shameful in the eyes of others, but sinless in the eyes of God? Well, start celebrating, because it is true.  If you are a Jesus follower, then you have some remarkable nicknames…child of God and royal priesthood are just the beginning.  There is also “His workmanship,” “new creation,” “His Bride,” “Chosen Ones,” “Holy,”and “Beloved.”  God looks past the short stature, the tall and gangly, the skin imperfections, all of it, and sees a beautiful creation.  This alone should present us with hope as we go into our day. 

Napoleon is the target of all kinds of jokes because of how tall he was.  Now, here is the surprise as promised…he was average height for the French men of his day.  In other words, he does not warrant all of the “short” jabs and jokes he gets today.  It is too bad that he is known more for this misrepresentation than for some of the ways he provided inspiration to his army.  My favorite quote of any leader (other than Jesus), anywhere, at anytime, belongs to Napoleon…“A leader is a dealer in hope.”

Today, if you are in a leadership role, then you are in a unique position.  You have the power to help others see themselves in a positive light.  People get enough negativity and name-calling from others.  Your job is to inject hope into their circumstances, getting them to see themselves as God sees them – a beautiful and spectacular creation.  If you do that, all of those who are determined to swing sticks and sling stones will be silenced.