The passing and dissection of TulaneLSU’s 30 year old volleyball

Mother always thought I could be a professional volleyball player. My great uncle had been an Olympian volleyball player and I was to follow in his footsteps. When I was four she bought me a Korean made Wilson volleyball. I played with that balls for hours on end. I never quite had the coordination or the jumping ability to go pro, but I did win a middle school tournament. While doing some Christmas cleaning today, I came across that old ball in the attic.



Years of heat and the elements had caused it to disinegrate. Its formerly supple surface was rock hard. When I bounced the ball on the ground, it made a snapping sound. There was no bounce. The surface cracked like an egg. I was soon peeling away that outer shell to find a wound ball of thread. Beneath it was a somewhat pliable bladder.







How odd life is that an object that came with it so much hope and expectation could come to an end like this, deformed, cracked, and unwound. I suppose our lives can end up like this Wilson volleyball if we do not nurish it with the things our entire being needs: faith, hope, love, mercy, and kidness.

Dearest of friends, may this day bless you with great things. Great things are not always great in size nor are they always appreciated by others.

Here is a picture of a lizard in my small garden this morning: