JOHN WOODEN

JOHN WOODEN’S WIFE

On the first day of spring, March 21, 1985, the wife of the greatest coach in college basketball history died. Nellie Wooden’s suffering had lasted and lasted, but on that day there came release.

We know John Wooden as the coach of the UCLA Bruins because there had never been teams like them. They reeled off 88 consecutive wins a row. They won seven “Final Fours” in a row; then ten national championships before it was all said and done. We’d never seen a team like the Bruins. They won and won and rarely stopped winning. We’d watch the coach during the games, mostly sitting on the bench, holding a rolled up program. Calm. Cool. Collected. Never raving or stalking the sidelines like so many coaches in search of one more victory and a heart attack. John Wooden’s very presence reminded us that, whereas athletics might be both tense and fun, it wasn’t life and death. There were things more important.

We heard that he kept a 3x5 card of every practice his teams ever held. These were his daily building blocks of success. We heard that when he first addressed a team the very first thing he taught them was not how to dribble, pass, and shoot, but how to put on their socks. He wanted to show them how to prevent crippling blisters. John Wooden paid attention to detail.

We heard about his dealings with his celebrity players. When campus rebel and starting center Bill Walton wanted to grow a beard, he told Wooden he’d be doing so, in spite of Wooden’s dress and neatness code for the team. Walton was the star. Everyone knew the team couldn’t win without him and Walton knew it too. Wooden told him that he respected his decision and that the team would miss him. Walton started shaving again.

Walk into Wooden’s one-bedroom Los Angeles condo and you’ll see the life of a man dedicated to Nellie. The wall decorations are as she left them. He hasn’t replaced a single one. Even though it’s worn out, the furniture is where it was sixteen years ago. He’s not moved nor replaced a single stick.

If you could invade the coach’s privacy for one night, you’d note that he continues to sleep on the left side of the bed, just as he’d done for the fifty-three years of their marriage. Like a magnet, something unusual draws your eyes to the right side of the bed. It’s her robe, laid out neatly. It’s there every night, always on her side of the bed, the right side. Looking more closely, you see there’s a stack of letters on the robe. When you ask, he tells you that he writes his wife a letter on the 21^{st
day of every month and has done so for the last 242 consecutive months. Looking
at the handwritten letters, he says, I tell her things like, “It’s been 16
years, 9 months, and 10 days since you were released from your pain and taken to
heaven. But you are with me always.” He’ll write to her about the children
and the grandchildren, how they are and what they’re doing.}

When John was a child, his dad read poetry to him and his three brothers, telling them, “Make everyday your masterpiece.” At 92, Wooden still thinks of those words. Today, he says, “I will continue each day to [make each day a masterpiece] until the good Lord takes me to be with my dear Nellie again.”

Paul writes, “Set your affection on things above, not in things on earth,” and “our citizenship is in heaven, from where we look for the Savior, our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Colossians 3:2 and Philippians 3:20) Want a real-life picture of occupation with Christ? Look at the analogy of Wooden and his wife.

She’s no longer here, but all she left behind is intact. Jesus isn’t here physically, but the Word He left behind is intact. We don’t add to it to make us comfortable, we don’t detract from it to eliminate our discomfort. We revere and respect it; we refuse to “buy” new “furniture” because we want His. We refuse to trade in its genders, nouns, and verbs so the décor can be more modern.

Our “letters” are our prayers, personal, up-close, and intimate. We talk as good friends should and do. Month after month our prayers pile up, perhaps expressed from our beds as night finds our last conscious thoughts to be thoughts of Him as sleep closes in.

We make our days masterpieces for Him, painting on the canvas of real life, sometimes with a messy easel. But no matter, He says He’ll take the messy paints of our lives and blend them into a beautiful picture (Romans 8:28).

We wake up reminding ourselves that today could be the day that He’ll come for us; today we might see Him; today our walk by faith could be over and we’ll walk by sight.

John Wooden’s devotion stands out as a bonfire in a pitch-black cavern. We thought such dedication died with chivalrous knights slaying archaic dragons for some fair lady.

Just so, a believer’s occupation with Christ stands out today-a blazing, Technicolor passion for Christ in a cold, grey, and monochrome world…

Dr. Mike Halsey, Pastor

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