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
No comments:
Post a Comment