High school football season has arrived, and I missed the first at-home game. Having spent the last two days in pain with stomach spasms, I had to cancel everything. I’ll be going for tests next week, a routine I’ve been through dozens of times. Hopefully, these will turn out like the others…nothing seriously wrong.
Back to football. I don’t go to watch the game. I don’t even understand it. The basic premise is easy. The goal is to get the ball over the line and to knock down your opponents so they can’t get the ball over their line. That’s pretty straightforward, and why it requires planning and strategy is beyond me.
My husband has tried to explain the rules to me a few times, but then he’ll notice the blank look on my face and decide it’s a good time to visit the concession stand.
I go to the games because my grandson is in the band. I love marching bands. John Philip Sousa is one of my favorite composers. There’s something about a band number that rouses the senses, pricks the memory, and sets the heart to soaring with all kinds of lofty emotions like patriotism and triumph.
Can you imagine the victory march at the end of that great battle vetween good and evil? With all the evil around us, it’s hard to realize that it will be vanquished forever one day. As the old hymn says, “What a day of rejoicing that will be.” It will be a day of celebration such as we’ve never seen with Jesus exalted as the victor. No more pain, no more stomach spasms, no more medical tests.
I’m reminded of that glorious celebration every time I hear the band strike up.