Marshall Ramsey

Pam Grant stood in the pouring rain. Her running outfit was cold, wet and clingy. Her shoes and socks were soaked. She could’ve easily gone home and been warm and dry but didn’t.  Pam Grant was there to prove something. To prove her life had changed.  And even though the sky was a dull gray, there was nothing but sunshine in her heart.

She stood at the starting line with a handful of runners.  The starting pistol went off and the mass of humanity lunged forward.  Six point two miles to go.  A 10K. That goal seemed so daunting even a few months ago.  She felt her heart rate increasing.  Her legs began to run in a rhythm.  This was her race. She’d run it at her own pace. She was in it to win it.

Her mind began to drift off as she ran.  She saw herself sitting in  the waiting room in the medical office complex in Jackson, Mississippi.  Around her were old magazines that still had the economy doing well and the Saints losing.  Her heart rate had raced then, too. But not because of exercise. She was scared. And her fear had seized her like a Boa eating a mouse.  She saw the man with the eye patch and the breast cancer survivor waiting for reconstructive surgery.  The nurse seemed to call out every name but hers.  And then she came out again and called, “Pam Grant.”

Her heart nearly beat out of her chest.

Like it was right now. A cold rain continued to pour down on the runners. Pam dodged a pothole and looked at her watch.  She had been running for 10 minutes and had already knocked out the first mile.  Her heart was really racing now.  God, it felt so good to be alive.  The pain in her lungs and legs were God’s reminder of His Grace.  His Grace was the only reason she was alive, that was for sure. “Well,” she thought, “His Grace working through great doctors.”

She had to take off her shirt for the exam and put on the geeky gown.  Her modesty alarms went off. Strange doctor. Strange building. Strange situation.  If she could have crawled into a hole she would have.  She looked down at the table with the paper on it. She HATED sitting on the paper. It always seemed so wasteful.  And on top of that, the A/C was on high. Great.  No clothes on and freezing.  She’s say “Hi” to the doctor in a strange way.

She looked at her watch again.  She had just crossed her second mile.  So far, all systems were go. Her heart rate was exactly where it was supposed to be.  A young girl with braces and a bright green T-shirt handed her some sports drink.  She gulped it, took a cup of water and poured it over her already soaked head.  A wet t-shirt contest. She laughed to herself.  Her modestly had been left on the operating table.

“Let’s take a look at that mole.”  The doctor seemed nice enough. She was sure she was just a number to him, but he had a nice smile.  “Remove the gown.”

“Crap,” she thought. She felt her cheeks flushing.

“Hmm.  Let me look at that under magnification.” Her husband had seen the strange mole. It had grown and she had gotten the first available appointment with her regular doctor. He suggested she go to a dermatologist. Her dermatologist then referred her to this plastic surgeon.  “We’re going to have to biopsy that one. And maybe a couple more.”

The rain came down harder now. Mile three came and went with a couple of major hills. Hills were God’s way of making you tougher.  At least that’s what she told herself.  The last major hill she had climbed was six months ago.  She remembered the phone call.  “Pam, this is Dr. Anderson. I’m sorry but one of those moles we biopsied is malignant melanoma. You have cancer.”

It had all been a blur after that.  Two days later, she had major surgery that included her having her lymph nodes removed. She looked and felt like pirates had attacked her with swords.  She remembered throwing up as she woke up from surgery.  And she remembered her doctor’s words, “It was caught early.  Melanoma is very hard to treat but we caught yours before it had spread.

Thank God she had gotten checked. Thank God she had listened to her husband. And thank God for Dr. Anderson.  Like a crack on the windshield, you want to get melanoma treated before it spreads.  She had lost her best friend to the disease four years ago after she had had her second child.  She knew that she had been hit by a train and walked away with just losing a bumper.

Mile six loomed ahead.  She could see the finish line and felt the satisfaction of her lungs and legs burning in tandem.  She felt her scar tug as she ran.  Her scar. Right under her left breast and it ran to her back.  It was red. It was sore. It was her reminder of how precious life truly is.

As she crossed the finish line, she saw her husband and children holding an umbrella and cheering for her.  And even through she officially came in 105th, she had won.  As she ran over to where they were standing, the rain stopped and a beam of sunlight illuminated her family.  She felt her scar and said, “Thanks be to God.”

Pam Grant was more than just a survivor. She now was truly living.

For every five-star blue chip athlete, there was an athlete like Mike. Too slow, too small, too dumb, too whatever some scout or coach guessed incorrectly about him.  You can measure speed by the 40-yard dash. You can measure strength by the bench press.  But you can’t measure will to win any other way but by long-term results. Mike had fulfilled his dream of playing Junior College Football and even had gotten on the field. He had walked on at a major university and played a few games.  His heart allowed him to do things that were impossible for average people.  Now at 40, Mike was once again being told he wasn’t good enough.

Oh, it wasn’t personal.  It was business.  The economy had soured and his corporation decided that the quickest way back to financial health was to lay people off. RIF (Reduction In Force) was the technical name for it — a punch to the gut was more how it felt. RIF seemed so impersonal. It made it seem neater. Easier for the people who had to do the actual cutting. Mike had gotten the news on a Tuesday like so many other people in his office.  They were called into a room and handed envelopes.  He watched as grown men openly wept and women sat there stunned. Mike looked around the room and  tried to soak in the memories of what had been up until that point, a VERY successful career.

But success wasn’t good enough during the Great Recession. He had been thrown away like a piece of used paper. But for all the pain and confusion he felt, somewhere deep inside him, the very heart that drove Mike to be a good athlete kicked in again.  He packed his box with a determined look on his face. He wasn’t going to get mad. He wasn’t going to get even. He was going to get ahead. He would win.

He drove home and stopped by his church on the way home. An unemployed man needs a team on his side and Mike went straight to the top for help.  He walked in the sanctuary, startled the janitor and immediately got on his knees and asked for help.

Mike looked up at the cross at the end of the room and realized that his life had now changed.  No longer were there one and a half hour lunches or coffee breaks. He had a family to take care of. He had to get busy.

Millions of Americans had faced what he was now facing. There was no sense of feeling sorry for himself. He had been tossed off the boat and now had to learn to swim. But he had an edge. He had heart.  And his determination would carry him through this storm.

Change can be scary. But Mike knew that it also could be a blessing.  He drove home with his head held high realizing that a straight backbone and mental toughness would make him win.  He would succeed. He knew it. He didn’t care WHO was against him.

And succeed his did.  Over the next few months Mike worked three jobs. He worked hard to provide for his family but he also engaged them.  What would be a hell for some folks turned out to be a blessing for Mike. It made him smarter. And it eventually made him richer.

Mike became an entrepreneur.  He took a class at a local community college and learned basic business principles.  When he was sitting still, he was reading.  He quit a job and spent the time starting his own company.  Everyone didn’t believe in him.  Just like the coaches and the scouts hadn’t 20 years ago.

Mike took time out of his day and became fit.  Blood pressure medicine and his diabetes faded away.  His training allowed him to become more disciplined.  He made sure he spent time with his family and went out of his way to show his wife how much he appreciated her and the sacrifices she was making.  In time, Mike was making more money with his business than he ever made at his old company.

One day Mike was at a Chamber event and he ran into the boss who had laid him off. He walked up to him and grabbed his hand, excitedly shaking it.  The man pulled away, fearing the his former employer would take a swing at him.

“You think I’m mad? ” Mike laughed. “Heavens no. What you did was the best thing for me. You did me a favor. God used you to make my life better.  I know what you did was just business. Bad business, mind you. You hurt your company by getting rid of several hardworking employees. But let me repeat, you did me a favor. So let me just tell you, thank you.”

And with that, Mike walked away from the stunned man.

Mike had chosen to focus on “what is” instead of “what was.” And he had gotten to “what can be” much faster because of it.

You can measure a man’s speed. You can measure his strength. But you can’t measure a man’s will to win. But if you could, Mike’s heart was the biggest in town.

He sat in his recliner watching his wife sleep on the couch.  Her mouth was wide open and her snoring rattled the blinds.  He even thought he saw drool.  If he had his phone, he would have taken a picture. “Nah,” he thought.  Lord knows she could find a plethora of ways to embarrass him.   They were nestled in the den watching the big game —  It was the third quarter and his team was behind by three points. Out of nervousness, he began to eat yet another chicken wing.

But his eyes couldn’t keep from going back to his wife. They were in the third quarter of their marriage, too. (It was definitely in the second half.)  The kids were now grown-up enough to be out of the house with friends during the big game.  So it was just them in the dark room in the empty house. The TV’s flickering picture illuminated her pale skin with a blue light, shaving years off her face.

They were teammates.  And like a team, they had gone through good and bad together.  There were the moments it seemed like their marriage was against their own goal line.  But he knew that they were like the defense that would bend but not break.  Back them up against the goal line and they’d come together and fight. They had had several goal-line stands. Cancer. Trust. Anger. Careers. Trouble with their kids.

For better or worse.

The TV erupted in joy. His team scored a touchdown — and he had the urge to jump up and yell. But he looked over at his snoring wife and decided he’d just enjoy the moment to himself.  A younger version of him would have woken her up just to be a jerk. The younger version of himself wasn’t a very good team player.

He thought about the day when he had popped the question.  He called it Signing Day because that’s what it was like –She was his five-star recruit. He had done his homework: She was nothing short of amazing.  So he knew their relationship had potential.  But as his coach used to say, “Potential is a little French word that means that you’re not worth a dam’ yet.”  A promising recruit must work hard to become a successful athlete.  The same went for their marriage.  They really had to work at it. They didn’t want to be like so many recruits that just wash out.  So many of their friends’ marriages had ended in failure.  Not them. They had struggled together. And now they were about to enter the fourth quarter.

He looked again over at her.  He didn’t know if others saw in her what he did, but he really didn’t care.  What was on the outside didn’t matter. Sure, she was beautiful, but her heart was stunning. She had proved over and over that she had the will to win — she was tough.  And like a blindside offensive lineman, she always had his back.

Her own snore woke her up, causing the dog to jump off the couch and flee.  She looked around stunned and said, “Did I miss much?”

He looked at her with a smile, “Nope. We’re winning — the trophy is as good as ours.”

She smiled sleepily and started to fade back off to sleep.  A light snore began to fill the room.

He looked at his wife’s beautiful face and was so thankful he had made the right choice on that Signing Day so many years ago.