Finding Purpose in the Pigskin


I don’t know about you, but I spend many fall evenings sitting in bleachers, cheering on various sized football players. This fall, all three of my sons are playing, so that’s at least four games a week. There are many kinds of football moms. Some have the

buttons and make cupcakes, some show up and are on their phones the whole time, some never come, or do come, but talk to their friends. I have been at some point, in all those categories, but am resolved this fall to be more intentional. I made these guidelines for myself to utilize this season for eternal gains.

Here are my ways to maximize the time invested…

  1. Take time before the game to say important messages to your child.  They are anticipating being coached and you have the most important game plan. I say to the boys things like, “I care more about how you treat your team than I do about the yards you cover.” “I want you to at least once during the game, say thank you to Jesus for a body that works how you want it to.” “Success isn’t given, it’s earned. Do you part with all your heart!”
  2. Have one conversation with one person in the stands with whom you wouldn’t otherwise interact. This is a mission field. Life is about relationships and the gospel sits on top of those connections. Make them.
  3. Pray for the coaches during the game. They have a significant opportunity to impact your child and praying for their marriages, health, spiritual sensitivity and friendships will make a difference.
  4. After the game, take a moment to not rush to the next activity on your agenda, but to speak powerful truths to your child. Tell them what you saw, your perspective on a bad call, a great play, their performance. They are listening and this is our chance to reflect back to them our family values.
  5. Put the sport in perspective. Our lives cannot, will not revolve around a ball wrapped in pigskin. That means we won’t be mean to each other as we rush late to a practice. Reduce the stress; show up late if you need to. We will not let our mood be altered by a loss or our attitude towards a player change based on their performance. We might miss a practice or a game if a critical family gathering conflicts. A year from now we will remember we missed the wedding, we will not remember that we missed the game.

Athletics is a tool for us to use when parenting our children, it doesn’t have to trump, interfere or otherwise work against our family values. Most likely, my boys aren’t going to play in the NFL and I need to remember this is an activity for them to grow as people.  My role in that growth is dependent upon my intentionality.

Go team!



What does family mean to you?

photo-80I took this picture last night at my mom’s house. My brother’s family and mine gathered there for an impromptu Friday night dinner.  These are cousins, lounging on a hammock, waiting for the blessing to be over so they can dive into Grandma’s good cooking.  I quickly snapped the picture to capture a moment so beautiful to me.

These cousins love each other, regardless of the fact they were born in three different countries to a handful of other women. God’s plan was for them to be cousins, so here they are, in the backyard of an Ohio grandmother, waiting for her to lavish her love on them.

Gilda Radner tells a story of a pregnant dog who had been hit by a car and whose owners decided to save her life by amputating her back legs. As she learned how to get around after the surgery, she would use her remaining front legs and would drag her back end on the ground behind her. The day the puppies were to be born, she delivered a healthy litter, but for the first several days, they only used their front two legs and drug their back ends behind them. They were following their only example.

I am so glad God made us in his own image and with that came the ability to stretch, grow, learn and change. I am glad I am not following the only example of ‘family’ I had seen, but God could whisper to my husband and I, a new vision. I am grateful when we have the Holy Spirit inside of us, that even at my mother’s age, she can adjust her idea of family and be blessed by the many who call her grandma.

For some of us, family may mean the children we bear out of our bodies, for some it’s who we add through adoption or foster care, for others, it’s a combination and for still others, family is a term of endearment we offer to those who rest and grow beside our family for a season, whether there is any formal arrangement or not.

The important thing for me to remember is being a mom means loving, correcting, creating. It means trusting, discerning, risking.  It means celebrating whomever is around my dinner table that evening. Some of us have lost children around our table, either to college dorms, or to heaven or prodigal roads we hope circle back, but on this day, this mom, looks around at these faces and is thankful.

Blessings, Beth Guckenberger

the story isn’t over yet

children eatingWe were out of projects, out of supplies, and out of motivation. And now, we were almost out of time.

My husband Todd and I were sponsors for our church’s youth mission trip to Querétaro, Mexico. We’d visited there a few years in a row, and we knew in general what to expect. A little paint and polish, some late-night tacos, a little talking to others about Jesus.

The truth was, no one really seemed to care we were there. As I was unpacking the painting materials, I remember thinking, haven’t we painted this wall before? We were frustrated, the students on the trip were uninspired, and worst of all, the people we had traveled all this way to serve seemed, well . . . uninterested.

“Do you remember the orphanage we visited in Tirana?” he asked. He had his back to me, bending over as he cleaned some paintbrushes.

My mind flew to another country and another time—another mission trip, one to Eastern Europe. I remembered talking to college students about Jesus— it was the first time those young Albanians had ever heard about him! Then one afternoon, someone took us to visit an orphanage . . . “Do I remember? Yes, of course I remember. Why?”

“Do you think there are any orphanages in this town?”

Within ten minutes of his question, we left the students with the other adult sponsors and jumped into a taxi, feeling like God was leading us to find an orphanage.

Looking back now, it seems so foolish. Silly, even. Right? We didn’t really speak Spanish, we didn’t have that much money with us if we came into trouble, and we were in a city we could have easily gotten lost in. We should have just stayed with our group, stayed safe.

But an hour later, we landed in front of a children’s home on a dusty road and knocked at the door, waving good-bye to our taxi driver. When we engaged with the children, I was instantly enchanted.  The adults had a few questions for us. What were we doing there?

“We have $200, twenty-five students, and one day left on our trip. What could you do with those resources?” Todd asked.  (I have since learned all missions’ opportunities, all outreaches start this way. You offer what you have in your hands to those you want to reach and then give all the credit to Jesus.)

The man shifted his eyes back and forth and then said softly, “The children haven’t had meat in a year, and that window up there is broken.” He waved in the direction of a window above us.

And as simple as that, our first mission began.

That was 1996 and today we are the Executive Directors of Back2Back Ministries, which has sites ministering to orphans in India, Nigeria, and three cities in Mexico, where I have lived ever since.  It started with some hamburgers (which we later found kids hiding under their mattresses) and has grown now to education, outreach, general care, fostercare, pre-emptive care, etc…  But I will never forget how we started, just two people whose hands were in the air.

When Todd and I arrived in Mexico in 1997, we didn’t know anything, didn’t have any big plan, didn’t speak Spanish—we were just moving in the direction of what felt like a big call. By the end of the first week we had run out of cash. We had brought the rest of our money over the border, enough for what we hoped was one year, in traveler’s checks. We found a bank on that day and waited patiently in line until it was our turn in front of the thick glass window. I slid some checks under the glass and smiled.

Surely she understands without my talking that I want the equivalent in pesos, right?

The lady slid them back to me and said loudly, “Tienesquefirmar- tunombreaqui. . . .” I had no idea what she’d said, let alone meant. I smiled and pushed them back to her, rubbing my thumb and fingers together—the universal sign for money, right?

She looked annoyed (no language required there) and slid them back to me, this time speaking loudly into her microphone, “Firme- tunombre!”

I shrugged, looking sheepish. I got nothing. “TU. NOMBRE. FIRME. TU. NOMBRE.” This time, with the emphatic pauses, I could tell it was several words strung together, and I excitedly said to Todd, “I heard ‘nombre’. I know that word!” I proceeded to take out a piece of paper and, to confirm I had heard correctly, I printed out the word NOMBRE. Then looking at her questioningly, I showed her my paper through the glass.

Rolling her eyes and motioning to the long line forming behind me, she nodded, “Si, nombre.” And she pointed to a line at the bottom of the check, pushing them back to me.

I eagerly and neatly printed out “N-O-M-B-R-E” on the line (signing the word ‘name’ on the signature line, instead of actually signing my name).

One of my favorite verses still to this day is Zech. 4:10, “Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.” I know the Lord was looking at me that day and could see all that was coming ahead, the millions we would transfer this year (fifteen years later) around the world in a half dozen currencies. He isn’t stuck in any day, or a particular circumstance, he is over all of it, writing with a master hand the story we get the opportunity to live. To imagine is to lift our eyes and see where we are now is just one step on a long journey, one chapter in the best story He could ever write for us… and the story isn’t over yet.


Beth Guckenberger

This post is a part of our “Who We Are” Series. For all posts visit,

“Who We Are: The Stories Behind TBM Writers”

Who We Are at The Better Mom

Sharing a Mission

1939759_10153986068080077_1694961220_oWe were walking in a Nigerian village and I was fifteen feet behind Todd. I happily was holding the sweaty hands of several village children, when I look up and see him. I later wrote on social media as a caption to this picture, “Oh yes, this is how I like this man… with a bible in his back pocket and an orphan in each hand.”

We celebrate twenty years of marriage this fall and with that much shared history come wonderful vacations, terrible fights, seasons of health and seasons of sickness. We have had months on end of what-wonderful-kids-we-are-raising and difficult days in-between when we want to manage them rather than parent them, just to make it all easier.

We’ve had regular date nights, and habits we have formed and broken a dozen times over. On our best days, it’s our common practice to stop wearing any hat other than ‘spouse’ after 9:30 p.m. If the laundry isn’t folded or the email isn’t answered… oh well, we are co-missioning a marriage, which is a priority over all others.

Sharing a mission of any kind, whether it’s a desire to reach our neighbors, or grow up our children, or work for the vulnerable means listening more than speaking, and respecting our sometimes vast personality differences. It often means not ‘dying on every hill’ with each other and respecting when judging comes more naturally. We find co-missioning means rejoicing over relationships instead of closed deals and as a result have shared thousands of meals with people we aren’t related to.

It’s a constant fight to see the battle is against an unseen enemy and to stand back to back with each other in our daily war for God’s storyline.

So when I find myself in a sweet moment, and the battle stills and we are exactly where we want to be, my heart catches. On an African dirt path behind him, I take advantage of the moment, grab my phone and capture it.


Beth Guckenberger

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