And I mean that, ya’ hear?
A long, long time ago, in the fall of ’92, I packed up
almost everything I owned and headed off to seminary. Funny how everything you owned used to fit
inside a car and you could still see out the rearview mirror. I left home, and found myself 600 miles away following
God’s call in Louisville, KY. It was the
farthest I had ever been from home, and there were days when I could feel that.
Fortunately, some of the first people I met were fellows
from South Carolina. The journey acquired
a sense of home. One of those young
ministers had even preached at my home church as part of a BSU summer missions
team. All of that was very helpful.
We compared notes about life in the northern part of
Kentucky, one river crossing away from the North. We lamented the lack of sweet tea in
restaurants (it might shock you where we found it—probably not). We’d go out to eat together and confirm to
each other, “That ain’t barbecue!” We
needed each other’s friendship. We were Carolina
boys together, but we all were still far from home.
We’d settle on couches on Saturdays to watch college
football, but the selection was limited to Kentucky, Louisville and the Big
Ten. Lord, have mercy. The saving grace was that Kentucky was in the
SEC, and for my first semester away from home, the schedule brought Carolina to
Lexington.
The boys got together, and we made plans to go to the
game. One fellow had a connection for
tickets, and even the Clemson fan wanted to go.
We got up early that Saturday morning and headed east for Commonwealth
Stadium. We encountered more culture
shock. 1) We drove less than 80 miles to
get to a college football game. 2) There
was no game day traffic. We had to come
to terms with a state where basketball was religion. Forgive us, Lord.
I mentioned that I left home with “almost” everything I
owned. The Gamecocks sweatshirt was 600
miles away in a closet in Reevesville, SC.
Guess what they didn’t sell in the mall in Louisville, KY back in
1992. Back in the dorm, I dug through my
clothes and came out of the pile with a black Evangelympics sweatshirt (God
bless you, Bill Cox!). That served as my
game day gear.
Of course, we had anticipated there’d be traffic, so we got
to the stadium very early. We tailgated,
and then we walked around outside the stadium.
We came across a woman all dressed in black. Long, black skirt. Black sweater. Big black hat. The entirety of the ensemble highlighted with
block C’s and the “Beat Kentucky” sticker from Jewelry Warehouse. If I had to guess, she was a football player’s
mother, but she reminded me of my mother.
The only indicator of what side I was on was that black
sweatshirt. As we drew close to the
woman, she locked eyes with me and said, “How ‘bout them Gamecocks!”
She may as well have said, “I love you and
everything’s going to be all right,” because that’s definitely how I heard it. In the couple seconds it took to say it, every
bit of distance disappeared. I wasn't a
visitor. I was right at home. And all I could do was smile and say it right
back.
