Wet dew blanketed the green grass. Freshly cut. Its shavings everywhere. The sun peeked out from behind the mountains, waking up to the smell of hot coffee and rising like its steam. Parents, moms and dads, most wearing light-washed jeans, multi-colored windbreakers, and white tennis shoes, stood just behind the chalk that lined the field. A boombox scratched as it turned on. It was fall in the 90s. Whipping lightly with the morning wind, the team’s banner was raised. The names of each player glued on with fabric. A cutout in the middle large enough for a five-year-old to run through. Or maybe a large dog. But that was it. The intro of the music started and the parents, holding their coffee in their gloves, twisting and turning slightly from the cold, moved their attention to half field. With so much anticipation, you would’ve thought a bull was being released from its cage.
Instead, it was a heard of five-year-olds. Cleats on their feet. Socks covering their knees. Mesh jerseys on their backs. Smiles on their faces. Waiting with their coaches behind a big banner. Waiting for the cue. And when the chorus rang out from the stereo speakers, “Hey, hey, we’re the monkeys and people say we monkey around!” those smiling faces burst through the banner with a joyfulness that said, We can do anything! and a fearlessness that said, Let’s take on the world!
Jordan’s little sister was on that field. She was one of those little monkeys. A five-year old. They way he still remembers her. So clearly.
And, tomorrow, just like seventeen years ago, on green grass, with spectators watching, the music will play again. Except this time it’ll be more than a pre-game dance. It’ll be the bridal march. And this time, instead of running through a banner with her team, she’ll walk through tree-lined hedges with our dad, toward her life team, her brothers, sisters, family, and friends, the people who love her more than anything else in the world, who are proudest of her not because she scored a goal that day seventeen years ago or because she’s accomplished great goals in her young life ever since. We’re proudest of her because she doesn’t need a banner to announce her entrance into a room or her presence in the world. It’s written on the tablet of her heart woven into the fabric of her soul and — and she carries it with her everywhere she goes.
And, forevermore, she’ll have someone to run with. And to. And our prayer today, as we prepare for tonight’s rehearsal and tomorrow’s ceremony, is that when they’re running together, they’ll never forget the part that says: We can do anything. Let’s take on the world.
