by Dwight A. Moody
Her modest gift arrived last week with a note.
Dear Dwight, I remember with joy and gratitude your gracious and pastoral presence at the wake for my brother—Justice William McAnulty—so many years ago. This donation and match are in support and thanksgiving for your ministry and teaching.
God’s peace,
Jean McAnulty Smith
Jean now lives in retirement in Indianapolis where I first met her two decades ago. She was Program Director in the Religion Division of the Eli Lilly Endowment. I was Dean of the Chapel at Georgetown College and, at the time, managing a Lilly grant as part of their Programs for the Theological Exploration of Vocation. She oversaw the highly popular pastoral sabbatical grant program and, for two years, included me on the committee that read hundreds of proposals and recommended many for funding.
Her brother, William, died in August of 2007, following a brief battle with cancer and, shortly after, a fall. A standing-room-only crowd gathered for the funeral, in honor of his distinguished and historic legal career. He was the first African American person to serve on the Supreme Court of the Commonwealth of Kentucky.
His journey to the top began in 1983 when he was elected to serve as a Circuit Court Judge for Jefferson County (Louisville). Many remember that victory party because the newly elected judge showed up on crutches. Seems he had been injured in a one-on-one pick-up game of basketball. With a 12-year-old Louisville kid who went on to hoopster stardom, Allen Houston.
Houston played college ball at the University of Tennessee. He was a two time All American, but his collegiate career came to a brutal end when, in 1993, Tennessee lost to Kentucky 101-40 in the SEC tournament, still the worst loss in UT history.
Houston played in the NBA for 12 years, earning All-Pro recognition, and won a gold medal on the USA Olympic team. But on that fateful night in 1993, his last collegiate game, he was awful, missing 14 straight shots and hitting only one, the last one, four minutes from the end of that beatdown. It was, perhaps, the worst showing of his basketball career.
I remember it because that same night my oldest son, with his version of the name Allan, played his last high school game, in the finals of Region Three tournament. It was a heart-breaking loss, in part because Allan missed a free throw, as time expired. Grayson County defeated 0wensboro Senior High 59-57 in double overtime and ended their bid for a second straight trip to the Kentucky State High School Tournament.
My Allan came home that night and went to bed, in tears. I sat on his bed and tried to console him. What I said was some version of this. “Even the best players have off nights. Just tonight, All American Allen Houston ended his college career at Tennessee, shooting 1 for 15 in a crushing loss to archrival Kentucky.”
Allan Moody, now 50 years old, went on to an excellent career as a college athlete. Allen Houston, now 53, has spent his post-playing days in the front office of the New York Knicks.
Allen and Allan have never met. William McAnulty and I never met. Only Jean and I, twenty years ago, when we were both doing our work inspiring and supporting ministers in their own call to gospel work.
Before and after that 2007 visit to Louisville to support my friend Jean, I have written this weekly column for The Meetinghouse Inc. For years. Jean has read that column, including the recent ones appealing for support for my new venture, the broadcast called Sunday in the House.
All of this was stirred up in me because Jean Smith signed a check, stuck it in the mail, and became, unbeknownst to her, donor #60 (toward our goal of 75, in honor of my 75th birthday). And because she included the paperwork for us to also receive a 2-for-1 matching gift from the Lilly Endowment, she has secured yet another donor, perhaps even number 75! Wouldn’t that be a thing?
Thank you, Jean, for your long and rich ministry, for your friendship with me and our partnership in gospel work, and for the handwritten note … and the winding ribbon of memories it let loose in my soul. Thanks be to God.
by Dwight A. Moody
Her modest gift arrived last week with a note.
Dear Dwight, I remember with joy and gratitude your gracious and pastoral presence at the wake for my brother—Justice William McAnulty—so many years ago. This donation and match are in support and thanksgiving for your ministry and teaching.
God’s peace,
Jean McAnulty Smith
Jean now lives in retirement in Indianapolis where I first met her two decades ago. She was Program Director in the Religion Division of the Eli Lilly Endowment. I was Dean of the Chapel at Georgetown College and, at the time, managing a Lilly grant as part of their Programs for the Theological Exploration of Vocation. She oversaw the highly popular pastoral sabbatical grant program and, for two years, included me on the committee that read hundreds of proposals and recommended many for funding.
Her brother, William, died in August of 2007, following a brief battle with cancer and, shortly after, a fall. A standing-room-only crowd gathered for the funeral, in honor of his distinguished and historic legal career. He was the first African American person to serve on the Supreme Court of the Commonwealth of Kentucky.
His journey to the top began in 1983 when he was elected to serve as a Circuit Court Judge for Jefferson County (Louisville). Many remember that victory party because the newly elected judge showed up on crutches. Seems he had been injured in a one-on-one pick-up game of basketball. With a 12-year-old Louisville kid who went on to hoopster stardom, Allen Houston.
Houston played college ball at the University of Tennessee. He was a two time All American, but his collegiate career came to a brutal end when, in 1993, Tennessee lost to Kentucky 101-40 in the SEC tournament, still the worst loss in UT history.
Houston played in the NBA for 12 years, earning All-Pro recognition, and won a gold medal on the USA Olympic team. But on that fateful night in 1993, his last collegiate game, he was awful, missing 14 straight shots and hitting only one, the last one, four minutes from the end of that beatdown. It was, perhaps, the worst showing of his basketball career.
I remember it because that same night my oldest son, with his version of the name Allan, played his last high school game, in the finals of Region Three tournament. It was a heart-breaking loss, in part because Allan missed a free throw, as time expired. Grayson County defeated 0wensboro Senior High 59-57 in double overtime and ended their bid for a second straight trip to the Kentucky State High School Tournament.
My Allan came home that night and went to bed, in tears. I sat on his bed and tried to console him. What I said was some version of this. “Even the best players have off nights. Just tonight, All American Allen Houston ended his college career at Tennessee, shooting 1 for 15 in a crushing loss to archrival Kentucky.”
Allan Moody, now 50 years old, went on to an excellent career as a college athlete. Allen Houston, now 53, has spent his post-playing days in the front office of the New York Knicks.
Allen and Allan have never met. William McAnulty and I never met. Only Jean and I, twenty years ago, when we were both doing our work inspiring and supporting ministers in their own call to gospel work.
Before and after that 2007 visit to Louisville to support my friend Jean, I have written this weekly column for The Meetinghouse Inc. For years. Jean has read that column, including the recent ones appealing for support for my new venture, the broadcast called Sunday in the House.
All of this was stirred up in me because Jean Smith signed a check, stuck it in the mail, and became, unbeknownst to her, donor #60 (toward our goal of 75, in honor of my 75th birthday). And because she included the paperwork for us to also receive a 2-for-1 matching gift from the Lilly Endowment, she has secured yet another donor, perhaps even number 75! Wouldn’t that be a thing?
Thank you, Jean, for your long and rich ministry, for your friendship with me and our partnership in gospel work, and for the handwritten note … and the winding ribbon of memories it let loose in my soul. Thanks be to God.
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