He Knows My Name

Growing up in Texas you are taught early and often the importance of God, family, and football, not necessarily in that order. Communities around the state gather each Friday night at their local stadiums for a fellowship, if not worship, that often surpasses that which takes place Sunday morning.

I played for a legend, Coach Tom Kimbrough. Coach Kimbrough came out of the Tom Landry school of coaching: he didn't yell a lot, but when he spoke, you listened. He commanded your attention and respect. I'll attempt to describe in a later post the impact Coach Kimbrough has made on my life. For now, let me describe the first time I talked to him.

It was the Spring of my sophomore year. Back then no one played for Plano Senior High School until your junior year, so your first taste of Plano football came in the Spring of your sophomore year during offseason workouts. We were nervous that first day - Plano offseason workouts were legendary. Players would go on to play Division I football and consistently report back that never did they practice as hard as they did at Plano. Beyond the challenge of the workouts was the awesome prospect of stepping on the same field as those coaches and players we revered.

We sprinted to the practice field, nearly hyperventilating with nerves. Coaches barked directions to a confused group of sophomores just hoping to survive their first workout. Early in the workout during one drill Coach Kimbrough approached me. This in and of itself froze me in place. Then he addressed me personally for the first time in a distinctive east Texas accent I can still hear, "Now David, when you're ..." I can't report the rest of the what he said, for despite my deep respect and my fear of messing up, I didn't hear another word, I couldn't get beyond one thought that reverberated over and over in my mind:

He knows my name. How does he know my name. This is Coach Kimbrough. I'm a skinny sophomore. How does he know my name?

Something changed that day. I was still in awe of playing for Coach Kimbrough, I still felt a rising tension in my gut each day as I watched the last minutes of the last class tick away before practice, but that day I was welcomed on the team. I belonged. I was known.

I think something similar happens with Jesus. You can know about Him, respect Him, even listen to Him, but something changes when you realize, when you believe, Jesus knows your name. When He speaks, He speaks to you, personally. Until then religion is a lot of work without much meaning.

"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine!" Is. 43:1