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I am not sure why I thought of him today. Nearly 30 years have passed since I last saw him. Yet for some reason, I found myself thinking of him. Who knows how the mind works? Does a name, a face, a person from years ago suddenly reappear after so long a time?
The easy answer to the question of why I find myself thinking about Mark Foster is that it is almost football season. Mark and I played together through junior high and most of high school. He played right guard and I played left guard on offense. Defensively, I stayed on the line while Mark played linebacker. He was faster than I was so he could play that position. More than that, he loved to hit people. I can say it now, though I never would have admitted it then, he hit harder than I did.
Mark had one of those odd birthdays. He could have started school a year ahead of the rest of us and been the youngest person in his class. His parents chose to hold him out a year so that he was the oldest person in our class. I do not know all the ways that this decision impacted Mark’s life, but one advantage became obvious when we reached high school, or so it seemed.
Mark was the first one in our class to get his driver’s license. His family lived way out in the woods just a half mile or so from the entrance to the Boy Scout camp, Buck Toms. They were all avid outdoorsmen. Mark loved to hunt almost as much as he loved to play football. When he started driving, he drove an old International Scout. He could not have driven a vehicle any better suited to his personality.
Everything about Mark said “rugged” and “tough”. Then one day, he was driving down the road in front of Mark Payne’s house and hit a tree. We were juniors that year. They said he died instantly.
That spring at graduation, a chair was left empty to remind us of Mark’s untimely death. In the fall, our senior year, we wanted to remember Mark. We asked our coach if we could put his number, 67, on our helmets, or wear black arm bands on our jerseys. Either idea seemed to us like the right thing to do. Coach said no to both of them. He said the school and Mark’s family had already dealt with Mark’s death and that our efforts to remember him would only stir up painful memories for the people that missed Mark the most. We did not agree with him, but we were just kids.
So I remember Mark now, maybe because it is almost football season, but more so because of the living that I have been able to do in the 28 years since his death. Twenty-eight years that Mark did not get to live.
When I think about Mark now, I think of what a precious gift life really is. I think about the simple gifts that each day brings. Gifts that Mark cannot experience because he is not here, and gifts that we can sometimes miss because we are preoccupied with matters that we take to be more important.
I am still not exactly sure why I thought of Mark today, but I am glad that I did. When Mark died, everyone said it was tragic for such a young and promising life to be cut short; and it certainly was. Now, after living 28 more years, life seems even shorter. Each additional day is truly a gift — a fleeting gift at that.
So here is your day, your gift. Live it. Treasure it. Do with it what seems right to you. Do not think that just because you have this day that you will have another one similar to it when the sun comes up tomorrow. You may not. What you do have is now. What we all have is now. Receive it as a gift. See it and do not overlook it. Hear it and do not lose it in the noise. Live it and taste the goodness of God.
Joy & Peace,
Ed
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