Reflections of a Sporting Dreamer

Are you a dreamer? I am, and unabashedly so. Dreams are what make life worth living, the incredible prize waiting just over the next ridge. They are the substance of things not yet realized. They can be said to be closely related to the principals of faith and hope. If the dream is powerful enough, it can change your life. Not only can it change your life, it can transform your life. It's done so for others. It probably has done so for you too, for dreams define you. We are who we are now because of all those choices we made based on our dreams.


I continue in my adult life to have many dreams. My desire for good things has not dimmed with the passing years. My wife can attest that this is true. When I see something worth loving, I desire that thing and my spirit leaps inside me. I fearlessly attempt to capture that goal, acquire that skill or attribute. This sometimes causes my wife and children some embarrassment. I suppose that just because I can hear and appreciate a famous Broadway singer float on the wings of angels while he renders my favorite selection, "Bring Him Home" from Les Miserables, it doesn't necessarily mean that I can immediately do the same. Go figure. But there's nothing wrong with trying and reaching for something is there? I can say that I've gained much more by trying and reaching than by playing it safe. How do you think I won my wife all those years ago? Winning her was not for the faint of heart.

When I was younger I had big dreams; the biggest. I wanted to grow up and play football for the great Mormon University, BYU. I also wanted to win an Olympic gold medal in wrestling. I just knew I could do it. I was one of those kids who was self motivated, someone who was willing to work his guts out to become the best. I also had some talent. I could just visualize myself cutting, weaving, and bulldozing my way to pay dirt in the end zone of what was then, Cougar Stadium. I could also imagine myself setting up a giant Russian wrestler, fishhooking his right tricep, pulling down on his neck with the other forearm knowing that he would resist and thus provide me with an opening to get his momentum moving forward against me, then slipping underneath him and jacking him up with a fireman's carry move to win the gold medal at the Olympics.

It was glorious in my imagination. I repeated this vision in my mind and heart 'till it became so ingrained in me as to become part of my young identity. Brett, the superstar, the stud athlete. Nothing was going to stop me. The gift of imagination is powerful my friends, more powerful than many people comprehend. I told God and the universe what I wanted and then I went to work to make it become reality.

I was fortunate because I was born to parents who supported me 100%. My Dad was my idol, a superhero in his own right. He had been an all state football player in high school. I revelled in his stories from the past and longed to create my own. He quickly saw my potential and provided numerous opportunities for me to grow and develop. It was he that first taught me to bump and spin to escape opponents on the football field. It was he that taught me to stiff arm would be tacklers. "Stiff arm them right in the helmet" he said. "Knock 'em back when you do it." He also taught me to cut block and take the legs right out from under defenders as often as I could on blocking assignments. I was a good learner and quickly became very adept all of these skills.

During the early years I had great success. Nothing could stop me it seemed. My future looked bright. It appeared to me that my dreams were getting closer. I could smell them as they began to take on flesh and bone. What I created within the walls of my mental and spiritual universe were becoming real.

Little did I comprehend that wrapped carefully and securely within the bright package of physical gifts that God endowed me with at birth was another gift. This gift was different. It had rough edges. It was heavy to carry. It could and would cause pain. It even didn't seem to be a gift to me, nor did I recognize it as such for many years. Nevertheless, as the first gift fades a little with time and age, the latter gift remains with me, my companion for life. Like a child who is disappointed at a Christmas gift she didn't want, I was sure I didn't want this second gift. "Please, not the second gift," I said to God. "I'll take the first one. I just don't want the second one," or so I thought for a long time. Only recently have I begun to appreciate the second gift. Only recently have I begun to understand what the second gift does.

The truth is that the second gift has been the one helping me to prepare for the greatest gift to come much later. The greatest gift is what I've truly wanted from my core from the beginning. How can I despise this second gift when it is the one doing all the work?

Next Edition: The Second Gift