Hand to the plow

An unsuspecting high school freshman walks into practice in the basement of Hugh's house, where my son's team meets outside of school hours.

"So, where were you Monday, Riley?" asks Coach Yaller.

"I was with my family; it was a special occasion."

"Oh, what was that?"

"My birthday."

(A fearful groan sweeps the room, as the other wrestlers begin to slink away and hide their faces.)

"Oh, it was your birthday, huh? Well, happy birthday, Riley. Let me tell you something: The day of Hughey's birthday, we wrestled. The day Hughey got married, we wrestled. The day Hughey's father died, we wrestled. What in the &#^%$^& do we care about your birthday!"

Okay, coach Yaller is not Jesus. But the incident did remind me of something:

"…someone said to him, 'I will follow you wherever you go.' And Jesus said to him, 'Leave the dead to bury their own dead. But as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.' Yet another said, 'I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home.' Jesus said to him, 'No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God'" (Luke 9:58-62)