The Story of Ed and Jean Jacoby

 

JEAN:

 “I swear I’ll do it this time!” Daddy held the gun to his head. His threats poisoned the air.

My sister slept while I stood at the doorway, shaking. I squeezed my eyes shut; I wished the fighting would stop.

“I was just dancing!” Mama laughed, her words slurred from the alcohol.

“With every man in the bar,” Daddy shot back. I knew the baby would start crying if he didn’t calm down.

“So shoot me for having fun,” she sneered. “You’re gone all the time, and I’m stuck with the kids.”

“Someone’s gotta pay the bills.”

“So you can have fun, but I can’t?” Mama yelled.

“I’m working. I can’t help the hours.”

“I’m not stupid.” Bitterness laced Mama’s words. “What’s her name?”

“There’s no one!” Daddy thundered. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Mama snorted.

“You don’t believe me?” Daddy cocked the gun. “Then I’ll prove it.”

 

***

 

ED:

 

Leaves rustled as I peered through the branches. The orange crate wobbled on its perch when I shifted my weight.

“Ready?” my best friend from next door yelled from the ground below.

Anticipation filled me. I wanted to fly just like the pilots I heard about from my dad who was in the Navy.

“Ten, nine, eight …” the countdown began.

I grabbed the sides of my aircraft.

“… three, two, one.” He brought down the ax and spliced the rope that held me in place.

“Yeehaw!” I whooped. For the briefest of moments, I was flying. Just as quickly, gravity took over, and I plummeted to the ground.

Bang! The box splintered on contact. Bam! My head smacked the ground.

“Ed-deeeeee!” Mom came out wringing her hands on a dish towel. My sister followed three steps behind. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

I sat up, dazed, but not hurt. “Did you see me? I was flying.”

Mom grabbed my shoulders, her eyes full of fear. Apparently my stunt ranked worse than me peeing outside. So far, Mom hadn’t been able to break me of that habit.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. At least she didn’t care that I hosted a weekly track meet for my friends.

“Promise me you won’t try to fly again.” Mom pulled me close. “I want you alive when your father comes home from the war.”

 

***

 

JEAN:

 

Daddy never killed himself, but his actions left a deep wound. Because of my insecurity, I wet the bed and stuttered as a child. Reading out loud at school brought waves of humiliation as I tried to get the words to come out of my mouth. Seeing myself in my first grade class picture filled me with shame. My hair stuck up all over, and I looked sad. I vowed then to take care of my own hair and attire. As soon as I could pick potatoes in junior high, I bought my own clothes.

I never doubted my parents’ love, but I knew God wasn’t the center of their lives. They took us to Sunday school, but never stayed. I believed the Bible and knew God was with me all the time. At 14, I wanted to get baptized, so my mother decided the entire family would take the necessary classes to get baptized and become members of the Methodist church.

 

***

 

ED:

 

Jean didn’t know it, but she was the primary reason I attended church. In eighth grade, all I could think about was the pretty seventh grade girl who sat in front of me at Sunday school. Her long brown hair fell in curls down her back. We didn’t talk much, but I watched her come and go, wishing I had the guts to say more. Then Jean surprised me by asking me to a Job’s Daughters’ Dance. I didn’t know that I was her second choice; she broke up with her first choice because he only wanted to neck.

 

***

 

JEAN:

 

“Students …” the principal’s voice sounded over the PA system. “There’s an emergency. We need you to remain calm as we evacuate the building.”

I exchanged a look with my friend in the next row. “Fire drill?” she mouthed.

I shrugged. It was probably nothing. Some prank or something.

The principal continued, “The school will close for the rest of the day.”      

Whoops of pleasure rang through the halls. I grabbed my books and headed outside with the others, disgusted with the kids who pulled the prank. I had a book report to finish, so I headed home. Later we found out it was a bomb threat, but the principal never discovered the culprits.

           

***

 

ED:

 

Jean didn’t find out I was one of the pranksters until a high school reunion much later. She would’ve never dated me if she really knew the cut-up I was. Jean was an honor student; to me, school was something to be endured. I didn’t have a serious bone in my body. The inscription on my senior picture read, “Almost killed by a train of thought running through his mind.” I passed geometry because I won an arm wrestling match with my teacher. If it weren’t for my dad being a former English teacher and his good relationships with the teachers, I might not have graduated.

“You’re not going to college, are you?” My English teacher cornered me on the stage at graduation.

At 90 pounds, Miss Ethel Rottman instilled fear in me like no other teacher. We had gotten off to a bad start the first day of class when I leaned back in my chair, and she kicked it out from underneath me. I smacked my backside on the linoleum floor. Two things she didn’t tolerate: chewing gum and leaning back, and I’d committed both crimes.

“You should join the Marines.” Her suggestion sounded more like a command. “Then figure out what you want to do.”

Years later, I wanted to visit Miss Rottman with my college diploma, even if she was right about me not being ready for school then. My only real goals had been centered on football or track and field. I wanted to be a coach and an Olympic athlete, but I forgot about that after I took a high school agriculture class to learn welding. I figured I could become a cattle rancher, so I enrolled at Montana State for agriculture.

At the end of the semester, the men’s dean called me into the office. He didn’t waste time. “You need to leave, Ed.”

I hung my head. I’d spent more time drinking and hunting rabbits than studying, so it came as no surprise. How would I face my parents with the news that I was getting kicked out of college?

“Go home,” the dean said. “College just isn’t for you.”

Dad helped me get accepted at the University of Idaho for the spring semester, but my academic and athletic endeavors continued to decline. Drinking and turning the dormitory fire hose on unsuspecting individuals interested me more than studying. I finished the semester with a grade point average less than 1.0. Maybe college really wasn’t for me, so I got a job at the Firestone Tire and Rubber Company in Idaho Falls where the management told me great things about my future.

 

***

 

JEAN:

           

Even though I dated Ed at the time, my focus was my senior year of high school where I took Latin and other college prep courses. I wanted to pursue a medical career so I could help heal people.

I knew Ed wasn’t perfect, but he always respected my boundaries. Friends in his class couldn’t believe we were dating, but I couldn’t understand their concerns. We had a peaceful relationship. I wrote Ed every day; the desire for a calm home and a husband whose job kept him home each night blinded me to the full truth.

“It was kind of an initiation thing,” Ed told me one day before he left the University of Idaho.

“They took your clothes and left you out on some mountain in the dark?” I couldn’t believe the story he shared.

“I had my shorts.” He smiled.

I didn’t see the humor. How could guys be so cruel? “How’d you get back?”

“I slept in a granary and talked a farmer into a ride home the next morning.”

Ed failed to mention that he had provoked a fight and that “the initiation thing” was actually retaliation. Of course, I took his side and got angry at the injustice of the whole situation.

When Ed proposed in June, I wore the ring he’d purchased from his aunt’s jewelry store with pride. I decided to enroll in a secretarial school so I could help with the bills. I saw marriage as a team, and I wanted to support my husband who was becoming successful at the tire company.

 Soon after our January wedding, the space heater in our apartment overheated.

Smoke set off the fire alarm.

“Do you smell smoke?” Ed jumped out of bed. Flames engulfed the hallway. Ed took his brand new coat and threw it over the heater to pull the cord out of the outlet.

“Don’t try to stop it,” I yelled over the chaos. “We have to get out.” The hallway was the only way out, so we rushed for the stairs.

The fire unnerved me, but I was grateful to escape alive with my new husband.

           

***

 

ED:

 

“How’d you hurt your back?” the doctor asked. The pain had increased over several months until it became unbearable.

I winced. “Moving big construction tires.” Pain shot through me, and I could hardly breathe.

The doctor examined me. The diagnosis wasn’t good. I had three ruptured disks.

“Eventually you’re going to need surgery.” He looked at his notes. “But your days at Firestone are over. No more heavy lifting. I suggest you go back to school.”

My heart sank. I’d failed miserably at school; what college would accept me? I’d done well at Firestone. What would I do now?

The doctor fitted me in a body cast, which I wore for a month.

Firestone threw me a going away party, and I came home drunk. When I threw up, Jean cleaned up the mess.

“I’m going to help you tonight,” she said, pursing her lips together. “But never again.”

“Will you tell my mother?” I asked, still young enough to fear her wrath.

“No, but you’re never going to get drunk again.”

I promised, though discouragement weighed me down. “What am I going to do now?”

“What do you really want to do?” Jean looked me in the eye.

I hesitated a moment, remembering my earlier dreams. “Coach.”

“Then, let’s make you a coach.” Her unselfishness touched me deeply; she was willing to give up her dreams to partner with me.

Now I needed to convince the head of physical education at the university. Dr. Leon Green’s department was regarded as one of the top programs in the nation.

“So what makes you think I want a guy like you in this program?” Dr. Green asked me.

I’d bombed last semester. How could I convince him this time would be different?

“I’m probably crazy even considering you,” Dr. Green told me. “Don’t disappoint me.”

I received a scholarship to run and jump for the Idaho track program.

Jean’s support and my attitude made the difference at school this time. I made the Dean’s list and became the best sprinter and long jumper on the team. My teammates elected me as co-captain. I don’t know whose surprise was greater — Dr. Green’s or mine.

 

***

 

JEAN:

 

Ed came to the attorney’s office where I worked. “There’s been an accident at the high school. It’s your brother.”

“I know.” I teared up again. “I’ve been in the back room praying. Mom just called.” Shock hit in waves. This couldn’t be happening. Jimmie couldn’t be dead. He’d graduate from high school in less than a month.

We drove home to Idaho Falls that afternoon. The accident shook the town. My brother had been pinned by a school bus when the brakes failed on a car he and a friend were driving out of the high school’s automotive garage.

Tragedy struck again 12 days later. My brother-in-law died when a train hit the grain truck he was driving. My parents were never the same. Soon after, I lost our first baby in a miscarriage.

 

***

 

ED:

 

“Ed, you’re the only son I have left.” My father-in-law’s eyes watered. “You know the plans Jimmie and I had to open a road-paving business when he graduated.”

I nodded, not sure where the conversation was headed. “I’d like you to become my partner.”

Emotions played across my face. I appreciated the honor, but I had other dreams.

“Thank you.” I shifted my weight. “It means a lot that you asked, but I really want to coach.”

My father-in-law was disappointed, but he stuck out his hand. “Well, if you’re going to coach, I expect you to be a very good one — an Olympic coach.”

Yeah, right. I almost laughed. Like that’s gonna ever happen.

 

***

 

JEAN:

 

“You gotta go check on Mom,” my sister Pat called. “I think she’s going to kill herself.”

“Mom said that?” I asked. The baby cried from her crib.

“Kind of.” I could hear the impatience in Pat’s voice even across the miles. “Something’s not right. She wasn’t talking sense on the phone. Can you go?”

“Yeah.” I hung up and called out to Jake and Lorrie. “Come get on your shoes. We need to see Grandma.”

I helped them since neither could tie their laces and picked up Karla, who was only a few months old. Not long after, we pulled up to my parents’ home.

“Mom!” I opened the door and called out, but no one answered. Jake and Lorrie ran in opposite directions.

“Oh, no,” I muttered, careful not to alarm the children. Mom sat in the hallway, her back against the wall. A bottle of Dad’s prescription medicine lay empty beside her.

“Mom, it’s me. Jean.” I shifted Karla and bent to rouse my mom, but she wouldn’t respond. A cigarette butt lay between her fingers near a black ring on her shirt. She didn’t even know she’d burned her stomach.

I grabbed the phone and called the ambulance, which soon arrived. “What’s wrong with Grandma?” Jake asked.

“Nothing, honey,” my voice trembled. “She just needs to see the doctor.”

Satisfied, Jake ran around the room making siren noises while the EMTs loaded my mother onto a stretcher.

Mom stayed a few days at the hospital for observation. The doctors wouldn’t release her until she agreed to go home with Dad.

“No,” Mom refused. Their marriage had always been rocky, but since the deaths of my brother and brother-in-law, my parents fought constantly.

The doctor pulled me and my sister aside. “She needs mental help. The risk is too great she’ll try suicide again.”

Reluctantly, we took Mom to the mental hospital in Blackfoot. She stayed there several weeks until she finally agreed to come home to Dad. Their relationship deteriorated further as they buried their grief in alcohol and drugs. My parents finally divorced after 37 years of marriage.

Despite my mother’s issues, we stayed close. I’d had to grow up fast, so I didn’t have false expectations. At the same time, I struggled constantly over boundary issues with my mother-in-law.

“Here you go, Jake. Come look what I bought for you.” My mother-in-law took a brand new coat out of a department bag soon after Jake started first grade. Except for the red color, the coat was identical to the one I’d bought only days earlier.

Familiar anger burned inside me. “Jake has a coat,” I reminded her. “It’s black.” Work and raising kids kept me busy enough. Jake was an active boy; a black coat wouldn’t show dirt nearly as much, which saved me another load of laundry.

My mother-in-law brushed over my comment. “The black one’s so plain. I like the red better.” She helped Jake into the coat. “What do you think of this one, sweetie?”

I held back my tongue. We were so poor, if my mother-in-law wanted to buy a new coat, I would’ve gladly accepted the gift. Ed and I barely made it from month to month, so the money I spent on the first coat could’ve gone to other needs.

Later, I confronted Ed. “You have to say something to your mom. Jake doesn’t need two coats. We could barely afford the one we bought.”

“She just wants to spoil her grandkids.” Ed crawled into bed beside me. “She’s a grandma.”

I wanted to scream. The woman needed boundaries even if Ed wanted to honor his parents like the Bible said. But how could I convince my stubborn husband of that?

I turned toward the wall, feeling the anger harden inside me. I cried myself to sleep when he said unloving things or took his mother’s side and refused to stick up for me, his wife. During these early arguments, his anger boiled over, surprising me. Several times he punched his fist through a wall. Ed only pushed me once, in the butt during my pregnancy with Jake. After my painful childhood, I refused to allow violence in our home, but that didn’t stop Ed’s hurtful words.

 

***

 

ED:

 

My coaching career began to soar. After four years at the high school level, I was selected to receive a fellowship to get my master’s degree at Northern Colorado for a pilot project in physical education for the handicapped. Amazingly enough, the recommendation that impressed the committee came from my now good friend, Dr. Leon Green; I was one of 13 chosen from around the country. Later, I was able to recommend him to the University of Idaho Hall of Fame.

I finished two more years at Idaho Falls and then accepted a job at College of the Canyons in California as the track and field coach and chairman of physical education. After four years, Boise State University offered me a job, where I began the first year of my 24-year coaching career there.

Shortly after our move, Jean had other news.

“I’m pregnant, Ed.”

I clenched my fists. I didn’t want another kid. It was 1973, and abortion had just been legalized. “Get rid of it.”

Jean’s face fell, but I didn’t care. I had enough pressure at work. Coaching at the collegiate level came with a whole new level of responsibility.

 

***

 

JEAN:

 

In my spirit, I knew the abortion was wrong, but I feared our marriage wouldn’t last if I didn’t follow through with the procedure. Many coaches at Boise State were on second or third marriages, and affairs were rampant. If I followed through with the pregnancy, Ed would not be happy, and the rest of our family would suffer. I couldn’t risk that.

If I could rewind the clock, I would’ve never walked into that hospital. The physical toll was difficult enough; aborting a baby halts a woman’s body in the middle of nurturing the life within. The natural cycle is disrupted, and the brain has to sort through mixed messages. The emotional and spiritual toll is even greater. Guilt is its own private hell.

We hadn’t found a Methodist church since we moved to Boise, and I desperately needed a church. I began watching Robert Schuller on television and discovered “Focus on the Family” with James Dobson.

“If you’ve had an abortion,” Dr. Dobson said over the airwaves, “God will forgive you the moment you ask him. I suggest writing your child a letter. This will help you heal.”  

“Dear Baby,” I wrote one day. “I’m so sorry …” My tears stained the crisp paper as I poured out my heart to the child I couldn’t see until heaven. I asked God to forgive me, and slowly I learned to forgive myself.

 

***

 

ED:

 

I didn’t fully grasp my selfishness or appreciate Jean’s pain until I became a Christian. I thought I was a Christian; I’d even prayed for years, but going to church doesn’t make a person a Christian anymore than going to the doctor makes you a doctor.

“Can we try Pastor Ted’s church?” Jake asked one day. My son played football for Borah High School, and Ted Buck, who had played for Borah years earlier, prayed with the players before each game.

Walking through the church doorway, I sensed the difference immediately. People openly expressed their love for God — something I’d never seen.

“Pastor Ted says it’s the Holy Spirit,” my son explained. “The Spirit takes up residence inside you when you ask Jesus into your heart.” He asked me if I wanted to go to the altar, and I agreed.

Walking up to that altar was the most important event in my life. I’ve received many awards: 11 Big Sky Conference Coach of the Year awards, four NCAA District Coach of the Year awards, induction into three Halls of Fame and the honor of Boise State naming their track after me, but nothing means as much to me as the moment Jesus transformed my life.  

My coaching began to change the more I understood faith as a relationship versus a religion. The more I focused on Jesus, the less I worried about my coaching successes and the more aware I became of the individuals I coached. I became less selfish and more compassionate. I saw my awards as opportunities to share accolades with my wife and kids, without whom I wouldn’t be honored.

 

***

 

JEAN:

 

“We need to talk, Karla.” Ed and I confronted our youngest daughter.

“Lorrie told you.” She frowned.

I nodded. “She’s worried you’ll abort the baby.”

“That’s what everybody keeps saying,” Karla opened up. “Even one of the boosters offered to pay for it.”

The news didn’t shock me; not one person had tried to stop me when I faced the same decision.

“And what about you? What do you want to do, Karla?”

She sighed, but didn’t cry. Karla was a strong woman; she had to be strong as an athlete with her dad as a coach. “I don’t want to quit school. Not with a full-ride scholarship for track. And Chris doesn’t want to get married.”

“We’ll help you,” Ed reassured her. “Pay for the medical bills, help with child care, whatever.” I knew Ed regretted our abortion as much as me. Over the years, he’d told me he wondered about the baby and how he or she would’ve grown up. Like me, Ed had asked God for forgiveness once he realized how he grieved the heart of God.

“Just don’t abort the baby,” I pleaded. “You’ll regret that decision for life.”

Seven months later, our grandson Jesse arrived, and we all fell in love with him. Karla finished school and eventually married Chris. They have two more precious children, Jenne and Jade.

“Thank you,” Karla tells us over and over, and I see her pride. Jesse is now 23, a star basketball player at Fresno Pacific University. God has used Jesse and his siblings in our lives to break down the walls of prejudice.

My seven grandkids are the treasure of my life. I tell each one — Drew, Jesse, Jenne, Jade, Luke, Karlie and Joy — that God made them exactly the way they are for his purpose. All our talents and colors of skin are beautiful to God.

 

***

 

ED:

“I’m quitting!” I stomped into the kitchen and spewed out my frustration after a conference meet. “I give it my all, and these kids don’t give their personal best.”

“You can’t quit, Dad!” said Lorrie. “You were made to be a coach. And I’m proud of you.”

I stopped ranting. I shouldn’t have been surprised by my daughter’s strong opinion since she’s so much like her mother, becoming a registered nurse to help people. I had no right to make this decision without consulting the people it would impact most — my family, the Jacoby team. Not long after, I’m so glad my family helped me stick with coaching.

One day, Cindy Greiner, The Athletics Congress (TAC) champion in the1984 and 1990 heptathlon, and her husband asked me if I would coach Cindy while she trained for the Olympics. I knew how much of a commitment that meant — training almost four hours a day, six days a week for four years on top of my coaching job at Boise State — but again my family encouraged me. Jean sealed the deal. “You should do it, Ed. You’re a great coach.”

Then, John Chaplin, a friend I’d run against at Washington State, asked me if I wanted to help with TAC, The Athletic Congress (which became the USA Track and Field, USATF, in 1992). The Olympic Development Committee was a subcommittee of TAC, so I knew the offer meant a lot of work, but I wanted to get involved. During the annual convention, I was selected to become an assistant coach for the 1992 Olympic Games in Barcelona, Spain.

I couldn’t believe the opportunity to coach some of the best athletes in the world. Me? A small-town kid, a goof-off no one thought would graduate. My father-in-law’s words replayed in my mind. If you’re going to coach, I expect you to be a very good one — an Olympic coach. If only he could’ve lived to share the moment.

I worked with the men’s high jumpers, pole vaulters and discus throwers. The level of competition was so tense and the expectations so great, I didn’t fully appreciate coaching Olympic athletes until much later. In addition, I helped two Bahamians, Troy Kemp and Wendell Lawrence, who were both athletes I’d coached at Boise State. I coached Hollis Conway at the elite high jump program, and he tied Poland and Austria for bronze in the high jump.

“Thanks, Coach.” Cindy found me at the end of the heptathlon. She finished ninth with her best score ever. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Who am I going to argue with now?” I smiled at her. For four years, we butted heads like two bulls. She hadn’t gotten to that level of competition without strong will, determination and talent. Our biggest conflicts came when I wanted her to change the way she’d done something for years.

“I’ll visit. And there’s always the phone.” Cindy laughed, and we embraced.

 

***

 

JEAN:

 

No one was more surprised than me when Ed walked up to the altar and surrendered his life. Suddenly, all the pain in our marriage made sense. Prior to that, Jesus hadn’t transformed Ed’s heart. Because Ed went to church, I made assumptions. If I’d known Ed hadn’t given his life to Christ, I never would’ve married him. Now that Ed was a Christian, he was changing, but not always fast enough for me.

I want out, I vented to God after another conflict with my mother-in-law during the time Ed coached Cindy.

If you leave, God said, I can’t accomplish the purpose I have for your lives.

I knew then God put us together.

Not long after, God showed me that I didn’t love Ed unconditionally. My kids were easy to love without condition, but I had little patience with my husband. Even my kids reminded me, “Dad’s not the same, Mom. He’s different.”

Ed wasn’t the only one who needed changing — so did I.

A friend invited me to Abundant Life Chapel in Kooskia, so I began attending on Tuesday mornings and Wednesday nights. When Abundant Life Chapel joined with the New Life Chapel in Kamiah to become The Life Center, Ed really connected with Pastor Kelly, so we became members. We both appreciate the mission statement of The Life Center: “Loving God Passionately and Loving Others Purposefully.” The church is the people; we have no walls.

I am amazed at how much we’ve grown over the last five years. God has been using my passion for prayer and ministry to help the sick and brokenhearted. Ed sees his mission to minister to coaches and athletes. God has transformed Ed into a generous and selfless man; he invites everyone to our home and recently led a fellow coach to accept Christ.

 

***

 

ED:

 

The year after I coached in the Barcelona Olympics, I became the men’s head coach for the World Championships in Stuggart, Germany. I watched the 4x100 with more anxiety than ever in my entire coaching career. What if we lost? I’d be ripped to shreds.

“What are you thinking?” an agent yelled in my face. “I want my guy in the relay.”

Someone in the media fired off more questions. “Carl Lewis is the fastest runner in the world. Why wouldn’t you choose him?”

I’d learned many years earlier I couldn’t please everyone, but sticking to my decisions became challenging. I had formed a close relationship with the Lord, and he was honing my attitudes regarding honesty, integrity and the ability to make decisions and stick with them. Without this, I might have caved in to the pressures. The stakes were high. Most of these athletes stood to gain up to a million dollars if they were selected for a relay and won a gold medal. I wasn’t worried about the 4x400. The United States was favored to win, and we did, setting a new world record at 2:54:29. Michael Johnson, a brilliant sprinter, ran the last 400 meters in 42.9 seconds. The crowd went crazy.

It was the 4x100 that ate me up, but I wouldn’t waver in my decisions. I didn’t have to explain myself to a bunch of reporters. We had standards in qualifying, and I would make substitutions in the quarter rounds as necessary to cut down on injuries. Jon Drummond, Andre Cason, Dennis Mitchell and Leroy Burrell would run in the finals. They tied the world record in the semi-finals; now it all came down to the finals.

I stood on the track, nearly sick to my stomach.

The gun sounded, and Drummond sprinted down the track, taking the lead. The crowd screamed with excitement. He handed off the baton to Cason who kept the lead, albeit small. Great Britain and Canada tried to close the gap. Mitchell grabbed the baton and sprinted toward the anchor man. Leroy Burrell ran hard, crossing the finish line 0.04 of a second behind the world record, but 0.29 seconds ahead of Great Britain. The United States won the gold at 37.48 followed by Great Britain at 37.77 and Canada at 37.83 seconds.

“We did it!” My coaches erupted in jubilation around me.

I wiped the sweat from my brow. “Yes, we did.”

Psalm 37:4 reads: “Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.” Not only did God allow me the incredible opportunity to coach the Olympics and World Championships, he blessed me again when my son got hired at Boise State.

“I thought you’d like to hear the news.” My coaching colleague at Boise State found me on the track. “I hired Jake.” He grinned. “If he’s anything like his old man, he’ll be a great coach.”
            Memories rolled over me. The day Jake became the first high school athlete in Idaho to jump more than seven feet in the high jump, the day he chose Boise State so I could coach him, the day he became the national NCAA high jump champion, our days on the track together.

“Really?” Tears leaked down my face. I didn’t have a farm to leave my kids. Coaching was my legacy, their inheritance from me and Jean. Coaching — and faith.

On my mother’s deathbed, she asked me to forgive her for meddling too much in our marriage. The next morning, I saw a brilliant light, as bright as the sun. Mom walked toward me through grass so vivid, I’d never seen that shade of green. She looked nearly 50 years younger and wore a white robe and her feet, which once hurt so much, were bare. Mom smiled at me and walked off into the distance. The glimpse both excited and encouraged me.

Jesus is the ultimate coach, though. The maker of the universe runs beside us, guiding us, encouraging us, even butting heads with us when we decide we know best and fall instead. Jesus says in John 15:5: “I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” Without God, we run without purpose, hitting dead ends and running in circles. With God, we run with victory, someday to stand before him and be crowned with eternal life.