Roll Tide! While I can't be certain, I'm thoroughly convinced that was among the first 25 words that ever passed through my fresh ears when I entered this world. When my dad brought me out of the birthing room to meet my grandparents for the first time, my welcome gift from my Papaw was a tiny Alabama football; tucked into my blanket as if it was becoming part of me from the very start. Born into a family of Alabama fans I was brought home from the hospital in a Crimson #22 Tony Nathan Jersey and my fate was sealed. Tony Nathan had played his High School ball at my parents High School and had gone on to be a stand out running back for the University of Alabama. A few months after my birth, he would become a 3rd round draft pick to the Miami Dolphins where he enjoyed a solid NFL career. Tony was a classmate and friend of my mother as I was told countless times. He became a personal hero if only for a day around the age of 4 when we ran into him after shopping for a little summer fun and he carried my epic back yard swimming pool to the car for us. (When I say epic, I mean the 4x4 plastic blue circular apparatus still selling at Wal-Mart today for less than $15 that shares more resemblance with a large bucket than any swimming pool I've ever seen.) While my parents assure me my namesake is the Nathan mentioned in 2nd Samuel 12 and not the rumblin' tumblin' highlight back from the University of Alabama, I heard enough about him to second guess that story! Another memory around this same age was attending the funeral procession for the great Bear Bryant. Not that this was unique as I'm fairly certain every Alabama fan within 400 miles of Birmingham had gathered to observe the passing of football royalty. It would not be much later that I experienced my first live Alabama football game with my Uncle James at Legion Field. Needless to say, Alabama football was more than just something to pass the time on Saturdays, it was part of who we were. As the years went by we gathered around the television and the telephone while watching the games. My grandfather (Papaw) and I had a special bond in many ways but central to that was our common love for Alabama Football. When we couldn't watch the games together, we were on the phone multiple times throughout making sure the other hadn't stepped away from the TV and missed the latest greatest play ever, or as became more common for a while, the biggest blown play ever. The last conversation I ever had with my grandfather was following the 2012 LSU/ALABAMA "Game of the Century" when LSU kicked a field goal in overtime to defeat Alabama 9-6. Papaw was so upset he could hardly speak. He would collapse soon after that call and I never got to have another conversation with him. He passed away a few weeks later on the eve of his 90th birthday. The moment he passed, I took his Alabama hat off and placed it on my head. I determined I would watch every game for the rest of my life in his honor. I think he must have had his first heavenly wish granted as we came back in the National Championship rematch to put LSU in their place with a decicive 21-0 drumming for the championship that year. I sure hope Papaw got to see that one.
We moved away from Alabama while I was still fairly young, but it did not diminish the passion. Being the odd man out during our short time in Jackson, MS and later on in Austin, TX just caused me to become that much more passionate. I've always been better under pressure and that definitely goes for my fan-hood. There were some dark days being an Alabama fan but I always hung in there and was willing to run my mouth even when they couldn't run the ball. As every college football fan knows, the last 7 years have been high times for the tide with the living legend, Nick Saban compiling a 74-15 record including 3 National Championships in the last 5 years. The decibels produced by the collective chest beating of Alabama fans all over the country may have been confused by seismologists as small earth quakes over the last few years. My own chest, being rather large has produced an especially loud thunder in the midst of Longhorn country since the Crimson Reign officially arrived via a decisive victory over the University of Texas in 2009. I've been the annoying guy driving around with flags and magnets all over my truck blaring "Sweet Home Alabama" on game day. I especially enjoyed doing this in Baton Rouge after defeating the paper tigers. I've had embarrassing outbursts after losses (ok even after bad plays) and I've shed tears of pride watching the million-dollar band enter Bryant-Denny Stadium. If the obvious fact has escaped you, I'm a bon a fide fanatic about Alabama football. At least I used to be. Then something happened.
A little over a year ago, my mother brought me an amazing birthday gift that any Alabama fan would covet. She custom made a nicely framed and matted display containing the Sports Illustrated commemorative covers from the 3 recent national championship seasons. It really was beautiful. More than the piece itself being extraordinary, the fact that she had located and purchased mint copies of these covers and had them put together in the brilliant beautiful presentation communicated a great deal of love and thought for which I was extremely grateful. And yet, while I knew I appreciated it and cognitively understood how much I should have loved this piece, there was something missing. I was emotionally flat lined. My heart didn't jump, there were no goose bumps, there was no explosion of emotion. There was not even a subtle excitement. I was confused but tried as hard as possible to manufacture the response I was sure she was expecting. I thought I had done a good job of pulling off fabricated emotion, but as I laid down with my wife for bed later that night she asked me, "did you not like that Alabama thing your mom gave you?" I was stunned, "how did you know!?" I asked. She responded, "I don't know, I could just tell you weren't as excited as I thought you would be." "I guess I wasn't." I replied, "But I don't know why."
I laid there in my bed trying to figure it out, then The Lord whispered to me... "I'm more important to you now." You have to understand something. I walked in selfishness and disobedience for so long in my life, I became well aware of the displeasure of God. I seared my conscience to it. I didn’t know if I would ever experience the pleasure of God again. Then it happened, and there isn’t a better feeling I can think of.
This may seem like a small thing. I assure you, it was a huge thing. Had you ever asked me if God was more important than Alabama Football, I would have said yes. Yet, the proof was in the pudding as they say. My emotions were far more controlled by wins and losses than by the Word of God. When the chance came to buy a game ticket or a piece of memorabilia, I would find a way to make it happen, but I never seemed to be able to give to Kingdom oriented ministries without having to force myself to do it. I could read the promises of God and yawn, yet I would be so excited before game day I couldn't sleep well. The truth is, this was just the most obvious symptom of a much larger problem. I surely had a Lord in my life, but it wasn't the Lord of Lords. It was me. I sat on the throne of my heart. I lived for myself. My own lusts and desires and fanciful dreams ruled my heart and mind. I was never a horrible person, but I was comfortable with some sin, I was in love with all things secular. The bright and shiny things of the world had my eye with a deep-set hook in my soul. Sure I believed in Jesus. So what!? James 2:19 chastises simple belief in saying,
"You believe there is one God, Well, good for you! The demons believe and they fear and tremble!"
About 6 Months before the giving of this gift from my mother, I had come to a stark realization... I was a believer in Jesus, lifelong, and yet I had NEVER been a faithful follower. Matthew 7:14 tells us there is both a narrow gate, AND a narrow way that leads to life. I had 'the gate' down pat. I knew Jesus was it, but I had no clue that the narrow way mattered or really even what it looked like. You see, I thought as long as I professed with my lips that Jesus was Lord, then I could live how I wanted and it would be all-good under the blood. I would soon realize that believing Jesus is Lord is far different that Jesus being my Lord.
One glorious and terrifying night under the compulsion of the Holy Spirit, I sat down and opened my bible to the 6th Chapter of Hebrews. As I scanned the page my eyes fixated on these verses;
"For it is impossible, in the case of those who have once been enlightened, who have tasted the heavenly gift, and have shared in the Holy Spirit, and have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the age to come, and then have fallen away, to restore them again to repentance, since they are crucifying once again the Son of God to their own harm and holding him up to contempt."
I will never forget the Holy terror that fell upon me in that moment. I'm sure I had read or heard that scripture before but it did not find a home in my heart. I was unfamiliar with the severity of God. Oh sure, I loved the kindness, but didn’t believe there was really a severity. Not for me, I believed! But here I sat, staring in near disbelief. It seemed like I was reading something for the first time and it cut me to the core. I began to weep and immediately began crying out to God in repentance. What was born in fear quickly turned to an overwhelming sadness. I had crucified the Son of God. Not only in ignorance but also with knowledge. I knew Jesus died for sin, but the crucifixion, the pain, the suffering; the weight of every sin that fell upon him was foreign to me. Every sin we commit was piled upon him. Every sin adds more weight to what he had to endure. I was broken. I began to cry out for mercy. I was experiencing true repentance. My mind changed towards sin. My heart changed towards sin. My life, from that moment on would forever change towards sin. I had finally met Jesus, my Jesus, my savior.
How grateful I am that the arm of The Lord is not too short to save (Is 59:1) and that The Lord will not reject a broken and contrite heart. (Ps 51:17) The Spirit of the Living God rushed upon me and began to mend my broken heart. While He met me in that moment, the sting and burn from the realization of my sins' affect would go on. It still lingers and honestly, I pray it never goes away so that I may learn to know him in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death. While I know I’ve only scratched the surface of transitioning from a believer to a follower, the goodness of God compels me in ways like never before.
Deemphasizing the lure of Alabama football is just one thing of hundreds that have to die for Christ to live in me. There have been many other deaths since that fateful night in Hebrews 6. Some deaths have been more painful than others. There are many more to come. Yet, I praise Jesus that in the light of His majesty, splendor, glory and grace; the things of this world are finally becoming strangely dim.
One thing I ask of Yahweh, the thing I seek most; that I may dwell in the house of The Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of Yahweh and may seek him in his temple. Oh Lord I love where you live, the place where your beauty dwells. (Psalm 27:4, 26:8)
