Decisions, Decisions

As a football coach I had to make decisions, lots of them, quickly and almost constantly. I didn't always make the right ones—no one does—but my record is pretty good, and that's partly because of a lesson I learned many years ago.

At the time, I was offensive coordinator of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I was 38 and had been on the coaching staffs of college and professional football teams for 14 years. It was about time, I believed, that I made head coach somewhere. But nothing seemed forthcoming.

Then Coach Don Coryell of the San Diego Chargers invited me to join him as assistant coach. As I usually do when making decisions, I prayed for guidance, discussed it with my wife, Pat, and sought confirmation in Scripture. Everything seemed right about taking the job.

But after I had accepted it, second thoughts crept in. Was it really right for me? After all, the new job wasn't a step up, nor even a lateral move, since an assistant coach didn't have the responsibilities of coordinator. And being coordinator usually puts one in line for head coach.

The more I brooded about it the more doubtful I became. Finally I decided to fly up to Fayetteville, Arkansas, to talk to an old Sunday school teacher who had been a mentor to me when I coached the University of Arkansas Razorbacks, and I felt he could give me some guidance.

On a January morning I caught a plane for Fayetteville, but we couldn't land there because of a snowstorm. We were diverted to Fort Smith, about 50 miles south. And that's where the circus started.

In a mixture of frustration and confusion, I rushed out of the airport looking for a taxi or bus, but nothing was available because of the snow. Then I spotted two men climbing into a car; one of them mentioned Fayetteville. Impulsively I rushed up and asked to accompany them. The men nodded, and off we went.

We hadn't traveled more than 15 minutes when I could see we would never make Fayetteville. We were slewing all over the highway, and it was clear that the driver had never driven in snow before. "Please stop," I asked. "I'm getting out."

The driver obligingly pulled over. I climbed out into the snow, crossed to the other side of the highway and flagged down an oncoming pickup. Back in the Fort Smith airport, I realized how stupid I had been. With a half hour before my return flight home, I slumped into a waiting-room chair, feeling completely defeated.

"OK, Father," I prayed quietly, "I've really made a mess of things."

Something caught my eye on the chair next to me. I was surprised to see a Gideon Bible. With a sense of relief, I picked it up and turned to the first chapter of James, which has always been of special help to me.