The Worst Nebraska Football Game in Half a Century

So there I was, one seat from the very top row, eyes glued to the field, waiting for something amazing to happen, my one and only flaming red Nebraska Huskers T-shirt worn proudly, just like the other 80,000 Husker fans in the stadium. The sight was pretty impressive. For three hours, we were the third largest city in Nebraska. A ball game has to be one of the only places where they can pack that many people in that small of a space and not have the masses revolting for lack of leg room.

The players came jogging out, the crowd cheered, the whistle blew; they even set off a couple firecrackers. Let the game begin! I was on the edge of my seat, staring down at those hundred green yards, explaining to my sister what was going on . . . as if I knew myself!

And then we lost. Not just lost - but badly lost. Embarrassingly lost. 45-14 - and that sounds closer than it actually was. At least I can say that I personally witnessed from beginning to end the worst Nebraska football game in half a century. That’s something, I guess. “The wave” went four entire times around the stadium. That was the most interesting part of the game. Possibly the most impressive too. But I’m not trying to bash Nebraska. I’m trying to talk about victory.

Cause I’ve been thinking a bit - about my life’s purpose. Well, not just mine. But the purpose of every spectator in those stands. What we aim towards and fight for. And what would possess us to give up half our Saturday, pay money, drive for hours, fight downtown Lincoln traffic . . . all to see Nebraska lose. Badly. And then I thought, “If people will go that far to witness defeat, what might they do if the victory was already assured? If a bunch of college students will train that hard and study that long and put that much effort into a game they can’t win, what would they be like if they knew they couldn’t lose?”

Cause the victory is sure. Not in Nebraska football obviously. But in something much more important. Because Jesus lived His entire life sinless, because He died the only perfect man, because He conquered death by coming back to life - because He’s already won the war that we could never win . . . victory is now ours. All we have to do is accept it. In our lives, in our seeking to draw deeper into the Father’s heart, we must never forget this.

I expect these sorts of lessons when I’m working with horses or watching a sunset. But the worst Nebraska football game in half a century? I guess if God can teach me something there, He can teach anywhere. The world is His classroom, and He takes every chance He gets to show us something new and incredible about who He is.

Shaking Hands with Larry Boy

Okay, so he wasn’t really Larry Boy from Veggie Tales. But I don’t think I would have been any happier to see him if he really was. Some people make your day just by standing there. This is the story of how God used a rather random misunderstanding and Larry Boy (who wasn’t really Larry Boy) to make my day.

On Saturday, I was invited to sing at a “Celebrate Recovery” meeting at the E-Free church. So, I packed up my music binder, made sure all the rubber duckies on my dashboard had their seatbelts on, and drove to the booming metropolis of Grand Island. Arrived at the church two minutes before schedule, which is pretty impressive, being as I’m a Johnson and all. Went to the front door and confidently pulled. Uh-oh. The door was locked. Never one to give up in the face of a challenge, I immediately investigated the strength of my fist. Turns out I am not capable of breaking down a door. “Open sesame” didn’t work either. Tried all nine doors into that church, and they were all nine locked. Well, huh. Oh, and did I mention I’d forgotten my cell phone at home?

Waited around for ten minutes or so, but no one showed up. Discovered around that time that I could use a restroom, so I drove to a nearby park. Walked into the rather eerie-looking facilities, took a glance up at the cobweb-covered ceiling, and began scribbling a mental list of the top ten reasons churches should never lock their doors. Went back to the church to wait around a while longer, and, wouldn’t you know it, somebody finally showed up! Only they didn’t have a key. Neither did the next people. But finally someone came who wasn’t going to have to pick the lock to get us in. I was ready to go.

Only when I started asking, the small group of perfectly nice perfect strangers didn’t seem to know what I was doing there. “So, you’re singing tonight? Oh. Huh.” “We’re just setting up for an ice cream party and a movie afterwards.” “You need a keyboard. Um, I don’t think we have one of those.” Stuff like that. Finally, in desperation, I brought up the name of my contact guy, the man I’d talked to in setting all this up. “Uh, do you know a Larry?”

Enter, Larry Boy from Veggie Tales.

“Larry? Hm. Sounds familiar . . .” Well, five minutes later, we established that, not only did we know the same Larry (who, incidentally, wasn’t a regular attendant at this particular “Celebrate Recovery” meeting), but he was also waiting a bit worriedly for me at the E-Free Church in Hastings. Not the booming metropolis of Grand Island.

Right church name. Wrong town. Don’t ever do that on your wedding day.

Half an hour later (and 1 ½ hours after I was supposed to show up), I pulled into the E-Free church in Hastings, shook hands with Larry and a few others, sat down at the keyboard, and played away. Turned out to be a great meeting. I was able to share several different songs - including the one I had recorded. Signed a few of the CDs afterwards (trying to explain that I really wasn’t that famous), and the first lady whose CD I signed let me keep her pen. That made me smile. Met an old friend of my parents who dropped a $100 bill in my hand. That blew me away. Got home to find another $100 check from the church. I could be a millionaire, and I wouldn’t be any happier.

Not that money is the point. Even shaking hands with Larry (who wasn’t really Larry Boy from Veggie Tales) isn’t what made my day. No, but seeing how God works - how He can take some completely random, potentially frustrating misunderstanding and turn it into something beautiful and hilarious - now that made my day.

We Are Watching You

I am no longer in the category of jobless bum scrounging off the generosity of my parents, wondering what sort of paperwork I’d need to apply at the local homeless shelter. Not that it was ever really that bad at all. But I am now the proud wearer of the title “Day Care Worker: Substitute.” Seems like I should add “Second Class.” If there’s blue collar work, then this is white collar work - white that turns into a sort of greenish brown as the day progresses.

But I enjoy this new job of mine. Let’s just say it’s . . . interesting. Although I have to admit it would be even more glorious if they’d add a few horses like the ranch out in Oregon. I’m pretty sure they could fit at least two, maybe three, on the grass around the playground. There’s even a fence already up. But, as it now stands, I’m still far from bored. Who could be when you’re surrounded by kids madly waving a rather sea-sick crab spider two inches from your nose, or standing tip-toe on a chair to let a balloon loose in the ceiling fan? Yep, every single one of these snack-loving, shirt-chewing, sand-throwing, bare-footed, loose-toothed children is a grand adventure just waiting to be set down in Indiana Jones’ jungle. Otherwise known as day care. And they look like such angels during nap time.

But I think what has surprised me most is a far more serious thing: the eyes of those children following my every move, wordlessly telling me, “We are watching you.” Like the conversation I had with a little boy named Eli several days ago. Eli and his friend had just finished their snack and were having a sort of contest to see who could proclaim “Dang it!” with more strong, manly vigor. Now I am well aware that there are much worse things children could be saying, but at the same time there was no need for them to be carrying on so. Quietly, I took Eli aside, and, upon my questioning, he proudly announced that he had learned the expression from his dad at home. Talk about being in danger of undermining parents. So, I took a different route. I explained to Eli that some of the kids in day care didn’t have fathers who said “Dang it!” at home, and if they heard him, they might start saying it too, and they didn’t really need to. In other words, “Eli, you are being watched by the other children. If you lead, they will follow, so you better make sure you are leading well.” Eli pondered this for a moment, and a very grave look came over his face, like I had just entrusted him with an important but dangerous mission. Then he turned to go. I watched silently as Eli scampered over to his friend, the one who had been yelling with him, took him aside, and began to explain, “Cooper, we’re not supposed to say ‘Dang it’ anymore, cause the other kids are watching, and . . .”

They’re listening better than we think.

A Zucchini Love Song

Yes, that really is a pineapple. Turns out fruit with semi-hard shells make fairly good flower vases. Who knew?

No, I’m not bored. I don’t believe in getting bored. I believe in getting creative.

Like the time me and my sister went to surprise a friend. She didn’t know we were coming, and it was her birthday, so Kristi and I wanted to do something extra special. All the normal ideas like silly string and decorating rooms (or cars) in the middle of the night seemed too . . . well, boring. This had to be something different - something original.

That’s when we spotted the zucchinis. Actually, my mom had just picked them out of the garden and, having a surplus, suggested that we take a couple to our friend. Ha! It was the perfect birthday gift. Almost. But first for a few bits of string, a button or two, crepe paper, and a little fringe. Several intensely-creative minutes later, the zucchinis were transformed into this:



Proudly toting our Indian princess and Arab sheik out to the car, Kristi and I started on our way. It was a long drive, and I suppose our creativity hadn’t quite exhausted itself yet. So happened we had a guitar in the car with us. Which was good, cause we needed a song. A zucchini love song, so the Arab sheik could sing of his undying love for the Indian princess. It was way better than VeggieTales. We wrote it on the drive over, belting it out in true Opera style with the windows rolled down.

Now all that was left was the actual execution of the plan. We pulled into our friend’s house at 11:00 at night. Well, and “pulled in” is a bit too general a word. What we actually did was turn off the lights, park the car in the ditch down the road, and sneak up to the house, Indian princess, Arab sheik, and guitar in hand. And a note reading, “We just wanted to say . . .” Then we called the house. Told our friend there was a Fedex package waiting for her on the doorstep, and could she please come collect it at once?

When our friend was finally convinced to open the door, there was the Indian princess and the Arab sheik with their happy little note between them. And just then Kristi and I (who were cleverly hiding behind a tree) broke out the guitar and started belting out our zucchini love song at the top of our lungs.

So, there you have it. I’m not bored. I like to think of it as having one too many hyper-active creativity brain cells. Just be glad that most of you don’t live within driving range.

A Rainbow in the Desert

You know, it doesn’t really seem to matter how much rain we get in the spring. Mid-July still thrusts us right up under the glare of the sun, leaving us sticky, short of breath, and in desperate need of yet another cold shower. It was one of those days just recently, and I was walking down the gravel road by our house during the late afternoon. I was actually pretty excited, cause I looked west, and the sky was this thick gravy-blue color, the wind was blowing decently, and I thought - who knows? - maybe the rain will come. And it was about time it rained. I felt like I had been walking in the desert for way too long.

So, I watched the clouds in eager anticipation as I strolled down the road. Made it a quarter mile before it struck me. Sure, there was a sea of gray in the west, and another one in the northeast. I could even see shimmering curtains of rain cascading from the sky. But right straight overhead, all was unreachable and annoyingly dry. A cactus would have seemed right at home at that moment.

I gave God a glance that might have been termed a glare and headed for home in a less-than-contented mood. When things are thirsty, why withhold water? I mean, yeah, the corn was growing up strong and green. I walked past a weed in the ditch that was even taller than I was (I know, cause I stood face-to-face with it to compare). Things are looking brilliant here this summer. But I wanted rain. So, why did God paint empty skies overhead instead?

I made it back to the house without any sort of solution and turned the TV channel to a remarkable documentation on the characteristics of Antarctica’s Emperor penguins. I was willing enough to be distracted and found the little things fascinating besides. I am convinced that whoever thought up the three-piece black-and-white suit used penguins for models. As the show was coming to an end, I happened to glance out the window. This is what I saw:



It was like the sky was on fire. I dashed outside, not even bothering to turn the TV off, then dashed back in to grab my camera, and dashed out once more. Sprinted straight east to stare absolutely open-mouthed at this enormous masterpiece of a rainbow, then sprinted west to witness the dying fire of a gorgeous sunset. Even if I was doubled over and wheezing from all that sprinting.

And then it hit me . . . If I had had my way, if God had sent the rain I had wanted Him to send - the rain that would have drenched my little corner of the world and blanketed the sky in clouds - well, then all I would have seen of the sky that evening would have been gray and blue. With the clouds so thick, I’d never have seen the world on fire. I’d never have seen the sun pierce out through the clouds exactly where and when it did to paint that magnificent rainbow. Oh, so He knows what He's doing after all. So, whether you’re walking through a desert or up along some mountain’s side or in a shadowed valley, God knows best how to paint the sky. Because of this, always we can praise Him.