Photo: Catherine Griffin Neyhart
We met on dirt and clay and mud and concrete. Earthly setting, Northeast Florida. That portion of the state no one wants to claim. Floridians say it is the largest town in south Georgia and Georgians consider it buffer land that helped them against the spanish and french.
But God meant us to meet. In the cosmos.
He and his brothers and sister had lost their father. He was in 7th grade. The same year Aunt Peggy grabbed me out of school when O’Neal passed on.
So we met in the cosmos or for you earnest southern baptists or staunch catholic types, the spiritual. Two souls.
He is a father now. Married, thriving, producing elite because he is elite. Good stock, gold blood, spiritual fabric trained the right way.
I never told him this while we were actively swimming life. I waited for the right time. But we will have eternity to catch up and share familiar stories of want and need and longing.
Stories only a broken soul that has endured loss and isolation can understand. The platinum wound. The driving catalyst of pain.
I can hear the sweet voices singing the old spiritual by Uncle Lewis Edgar Jones. There is power. There is power in the blood. There is power in the precious blood. Power, power, wonder working power in the precious blood of the lamb.
Many thanks to Catherine Griffin Neyhart for capturing the pic. She grabbed thousands and I mean thousands of great moments for my family from 2013 to 2016. This moment of the crazy coach whispering in the ear has received one glaring question. What did you whisper? And I simply recited the words of the song I was listening to in my ear pods. That’s how easy it was to coach this young man and his teammates.
Boutwell Jones
redclaygospel.com
