What We Cannot Do — and What We Witness: Thank you, Alysa Liu

If you haven't seen it already, read no more. Stop and hit play on Alysa Liu's gold medal performance at the 2026 Winter Olympics. If you have, I'd love to hear your reaction —and I'd like to share mine...

I first learned of Alysa Liu’s fabulous feat thanks to my dad. He asked if I had seen the Bay Area’s own Olympic gold medalist. I love that an 85-year-old man — a diehard Niners fan who finds a way to watch football in the preseason, regular season, and postseason — was completely taken by figure skating. He even affirmed her musical choice, noting that he has always thought Donna Summer had an incredible voice. That song underscored the performance of a lifetime. 

The first time I saw it, I had to process all that I had heard with what was unfolding on the ice. I was aware of Liu's remarkable comeback; she all but left the sport in 2022 after a sixth place finish in the Beijing Winter Olympics. Without the physical and mental demands of competitive ice skating, Liu found joy and energy, contentment and restorative laughter through time with her brother, playing video games and singing karaoke. Enrolling at UCLA, she was loving Bruin life. And then the passion was reignited.

I never feel as though I give women's' sports enough air time in Sports and Spirituality. Thankfully, the Olympic Games — both summer and winter — provide a natural opportunity to highlight the stories of extraordinary female athletes. Consequently, we celebrated the accomplishments of the women’s (and men’s) hockey team and studied the profiles of the Blade Angels. We debated whether Lindsey Vonn was inspirational or reckless and, together, explored the excitement and support that surrounded Alysa Liu’s performance.

I knew how I wanted to introduce her story. As a Bay Area native, I couldn't help but celebrate our own. Liu grew up in Richmond and went to high school in Oakland. My seniors added chapters and verse,  but my commentary stayed the same. Yes, I got a little choked up—that happens to me when I watch incredible sports moments. Yes, I said "Wow. amazing" and shook my head in disbelief. And, I concluded my remarks with one of my favorite comments. I said, "So that's an example of things I can say with complete confidence that I will never do in my lifetime." My seniors understood.

There are things we choose not to do in this lifetime. I can safely say I have chosen not to climb Mt. Everest, snort cocaine, cheer for USC, or engage certain topics in polite conversation.

But there are other things that — given the right circumstances, ability, and resources — I would love to do… and simply can’t. I will never tour with the E Street Band (welcome back, Tom Morello!), SCUBA dive in the Blue Hole, run the Boston Marathon, or play Augusta National (hope springs eternal, but I’ve done the math on that one).

Alysa Liu represents both kinds of limits — the ones we accept and the ones we transcend.

Physically, I cannot do what she does on the ice. As much as I might love to land a triple axel, it simply isn’t going to happen. And given that I can barely touch my toes, the idea of lifting my leg over my head and holding the blade with grace is downright unthinkable. It is however, simply marvelous. 

One can only marvel at her talent, energy, athleticism and even her enthusiasm. But in light of her story, it's important to know that what we saw was the fruit of a recess from the sport. We were all witnesses to an athlete who had been to the other side and came back. She skated with a joy and a freedom that spoke for itself. 

My friend Alex said it best, 

Most impressive to me is her sport is teeming with pressure. I sometimes marvel at their mental strength as much as any physical acts. Yet she wore that as confidently as her unique hairstyle. But it wasn’t youthful naivety. It was the result of walking away from the sport, dealing with her mental health, and then not returning until she was confident she had done so. THAT is the biggest thing I hope everyone, athletes and non-athletes alike, take from her. 

Some things in this life are chosen. Many are unchosen. Liu was endowed with the ability to skate on ice in a way that awakens awe. For a time, she chose not to — and we understand why. But it is hard not to give thanks — as an American, as a sports fan, and as someone who believes gifts are meant to be shared — that she returned.

Photo Credits
Jumping

Beyond the Confetti: A Different Story from Super Bowl LX—Scripture and Story (Part 2)

I packed up my Christmas decorations shortly after the Feast of the Epiphany. Last week, I folded away the last of my holiday plaids. Today, I wore my football sweater one final time. The season has come to a close. It is time to move on.

I put this away until Week 1....

Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” In order to begin again, some things must end. We mark endings not to cling to them, but to honor them. We remember. We celebrate. We believe.

The Super Bowl is an important marker, a crowning moment when a new champion is named and the vision and dream set forth by so many is realized by some. This year the Seattle Seahawks emerged with the win, but the game itself is only part of what we celebrate. We remember not just the highs and lows, the wins and losses, the brilliant plays and daring drama. We recall the relationships formed, the conversations shared, and rituals we repeat week after week. I am grateful for the memories, the moments and the stories. And the purpose of this post is to share the other great "take" I got from the Athletes in Action Super Bowl Breakfast. Thank you, Condoleezza Rice.

Rice is a distinguished political scientist, diplomat, and professor who rose to serve as the 78th U.S. Secretary of State. But her life is not confined to policy and diplomacy. A dedicated golfer, accomplished pianist, and lifelong sports enthusiast, Rice has also shaped the world of athletics — serving on the College Football Playoff selection committee and becoming a part-owner of the Denver Broncos. Her career reflects a rare blend of intellect, leadership, and relatable passions.

Rice credits her father for her lifelong love of football. John Wesley Rice Jr. was a Presbyterian minister, high school guidance counselor and a football coach. She said, "in many ways, I associate football as time with my father." I recommend watching this short video, for she tells their story thoughtfully and lovingly. 

At the Athletes in Action prayer breakfast, Condi added that her  father taught her to be a student of the game. "He didn’t want me to just watch football; he wanted her to understand it—the X’s and O’s, and the "why" it." (Thanks to her, I now know what a trap block is!). But football taught John Wesley Rice Jr.’s only child something else: it taught her how to tell time.

In Condoleezza Rice: A Memoir of My Extraordinary, Ordinary Family and Me, she writes 

I was staying with my Grandmother during the day and my father would tell my Grandmother I will pick Condoleezza up at two o'clock.

I would become so excited at the prospect of going to a game that I would pester her all day about the time. “When is it going to be two o’clock?” I would ask over and over. My exasperated grandmother finally showed me a clock and the position of the hands at two o’clock so that I could track the time myself. I guess I can thank football for helping me learn how to tell time.

I found that story to reveal a much deeper truth. Yes, at a very young age, Condoleezza Rice learned chronological time. The clock pointed to a distinct number. She learned to read the hands and to measure the minutes. But that’s not why the story matters.

What makes it meaningful is that it points us to something more than mechanics. In that moment—and in so many others—we don’t use time simply to measure hours. We use it to mark connection. We say, “I’ll meet you at six.” We count down to birthdays, games, graduations. Time becomes the container that holds relationship.

A great memory. Condoleezza Rice spoke at school. She is the Godmother of former students.

But time also tells us when something is meant to begin and when it must end. A gathering winds down. A meeting adjourns. The final whistle blows. A trip concludes. A season gives way to another. We learn to tell time not just by reading a clock, but by recognizing rhythm and the relationships the characterize it.

Though this was not part of her larger lesson, I came to understand that how we learn to tell time matters. At first, we trace the numbers and memorize the hands. Later, we come to understand its deeper lesson: that time is both gift and limit. It teaches us presence because it is fleeting. It teaches us gratitude because it cannot be reclaimed. And if we are paying attention, it teaches us love—because the most important moments in our lives are not measured in minutes, but those with whom spend it.

Thank you, Condoleezza Rice for this lovely lesson.

Photo Credits

Beyond the Confetti: A Different Story from Super Bowl LX—Scripture and Story (Part 1)

Although the NFL would prefer that I think about professional football 365 days a year, Good Morning Football didn’t capture my attention today the way it has for the past six months. The green and blue confetti has fallen. The yellow Gatorade bath has been poured. The Philadelphia Eagles have surrendered their title as Super Bowl champions to the Seattle Seahawks.

I’ve heard all the analysis — the questions about the Patriots’ offensive line, the praise for Seattle’s so-called “dark side” defense. But beyond the commentary and confetti, I’m left with two takeaways from Super Bowl LX that I'd like to share: one Scripture passage and one story.

My longtime friend and former colleague Kevin and I have attended hundreds — yes, hundreds — of sporting events together. Whenever the San Francisco Giants made the postseason, we found our way to at least one NLDS and one NLCS game. We used to joke that if the orange and black ever made it to the World Series, we’d rob a bank — whatever it took to get there.

Well, the Giants made it and won—three times in five years (2010, 2012, 2014). However, no banks were robbed. No World Series tickets were purchased. For all our bravado, neither of us made it to a single game of the Fall Classic.

I share this because when Super Bowl LX landed practically in our backyard, we toyed with the idea again. This time, the math was even more sobering — a bank robbery wouldn't cover the ticket price at Levi’s. Kevin declared he would only go if the Packers won the NFC. Since attending a Super Bowl has long been on my bucket list, I agreed to the terms. Of course I would love to see the Niners play, but I convinced myself the experience alone would be worth it. You can guess how this story ends... 

I’m here to say that Kevin came up with a wonderful alternative: the Athletes in Action Super Bowl Breakfast.

Athletes in Action (AIA) is a "Christian sports ministry that works with athletes, coaches, and teams to explore the connection between faith, character, and competition." Each year, during Super Bowl weekend, AIA hosts this gathering of nearly 1500 people for the purpose of imparting one of the NFL’s most meaningful honors: the Bart Starr Award.

The Bart Starr Award is presented annually to the NFL player who best exemplifies outstanding character, leadership on and off the field, integrity, and a deep commitment to family, teammates, and community. Unlike awards based purely on performance statistics, this honor recognizes the athlete both on and off the field. The 2026 recipient was none other than San Francisco running back, Christian McCaffrey.

McCaffrey's message was framed by two passages of scripture: Psalm 23 and Exodus 14:14. He spoke from the heart of how God's word had sustained him through disappointment, injury, doubt and dismay.

A graduate of Valor Christian in Denver, I had to wonder if his high school education familiarized him with the Bible in a way that I have not. I was unfamiliar with Exodus 14:14 but it spoke to me. It stayed with me. I wanted to share it with my own students, so I showed the video. I modeled how my students might pray with the Word and integrate its import into their own lives.

McCaffrey, a devout Catholic, was given the Bart Starr Award not simply for his excellence on the field, but for the consistency of his character, his servant leadership, and the way he lives his faith publicly and privately. In a week often defined by spectacle and commercialism, the breakfast offered a different kind of spotlight — one that celebrates  the deeper story of who an athlete is beyond the game. In CMC's case, that is a man who is very grateful, faith filled and devoted to Christ. 

The 49ers team owner, Jed York opened the 8:00 a.m. breakfast with humor, telling us he was willing to spend a lot amount of money to reconfigure the event into a lunch. After the laughter settled and the coffee kicked in, he shifted the tone and kept us leaning in.

York spoke about his 10-year-old son, who looks up to #23 in every possible way. There was unmistakable pride in his voice — not simply because one of his franchise players is talented, but because he is so much more than a player his son admires. He is a great teammate, a devoted son and brother, a loving husband and father. And as the breakfast revealed, he is a man of faith who strives to live by the Word.

For a young person searching for heroes, that kind of example matters.

The next post will feature the story...