I absolutely love to watch football, much to almost everybody I know’s amazement. I especially love the NFL. Falls are hard for me because there are late games on both Sunday night and Monday night. Jessica asked me on Monday night who I wanted to win. I don’t even remember who was playing; it does matter. I just love to watch football.
Yesterday I was encouraged that that the only way through this grief process is right up the middle. Of course, I think of football. Actually, I don’t know that my friend who offered this counsel even watches football, but no matter. Have you ever seen the brutality that players who try to run up the middle experience? I think that I watch in awe that not more guys get hurt.
So I, at five foot tall and too many pounds, am being told that the only way through this grief process is to run straight through it. I picture myself in a Cleveland Browns (of course) uniform and the play has started before I was ready. I’ve been handed the ball and, having see the size of those defensive guys, I don’t want the ball. But I’ve got it and there are boundaries that keep me from running around them. So, I have no choice but to go up the middle.
I am confident that this is going to result in my certain death. I know that it really hurts.
I can hear the commentators, “If she can just keep her legs moving, she’ll make it through.”
Lord, please just help me keep my legs moving. Either way, it is going to be a painful process, but the shortest difference, I’m told, is straight through it.