The biggest moment in the history of the University of Southern California football does not include a trophy hoist or a touchdown dash. In my opinion the event that deserves a spot in the Hall of Fame includes no game-winning pass or Gatorade-drenched coach. If given the chance to stand on the sidelines and watch one moment of the storied program that began in 1880, I would select 2017, USC versus Western Michigan. With three minutes and thirteen seconds to go in the fourth quarter, USC intercepted a pass for a touchdown and took a solid 48–31 lead. A few of the 61,125 fans began walking toward the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum exits. The rest of the game, it appeared, was a formality.
But then head coach Clay Helton shouted for Jake Olson, a redshirt sophomore, to take the field to deep-snap the football for the extra point.
What makes the moment historic and unforgettable is not that a player was called off the bench. The unique stand-up-and-watch-thisness of the play was that the player was blind. That’s right. Jake Olson trotted onto a field that was, to him, cast in midnight black. He could not see the smiling faces of the other Trojans in the huddle. He was unable to see the row of teammates on the sideline, all standing, all watching. He had no vision of the coaches who, with blurry eyes and tight throats, knew they were watching a dream come true.
Jake Olson’s journey toward this game began at the age of ten months, when he lost his left eye to retinal cancer. The cancer returned when he was twelve years old. Doctors determined that the only way to contain the cancer was to remove the right eye also.
Pete Carroll was the USC head coach at the time. A mutual friend of the Olson family told him about a boy who was a lifelong Trojan fan and about to lose his sight. Carroll set out to fill Jake’s head with USC football memories: he arranged for Jake to meet players, participate in pre- and post-practice huddles, and hold the traditional band leader’s sword and direct the band after a game. Jake even traveled to Notre Dame with the team.
Then came the darkness.
When he was healthy enough to attend a team practice after the surgery, he was welcomed as if he’d won the Heisman.
When Carroll took a job with the Seattle Seahawks, he invited Olson to join his team on the sidelines for a game. That’s when the center for the team asked Olson if he’d ever deep-snapped a football. Blindness could keep Olson from throwing, tackling, blocking, and catching, but launching the ball between his legs to a holder eight yards away? Olson learned to do it. He made it his dream to play in at least one USC game.
To make it happen, the coaches of the two teams had to talk. The Western Michigan squad agreed not to crush Olson with a rushing linebacker. The USC coaching staff agreed to use Olson only after the game was out of reach for one of the two teams. The school cleared the decision with the Pac-12 conference. Jake suited up and awaited his opportunity.
For most of the game Olson’s moment was in doubt. The score was 14–14 at half, 21–21 after three quarters. With six minutes to go in the game, the teams were knotted at 28–28. But then USC caught fire, scored three times, and put the game away.
Coach Helton called time-out. Olson took a couple of practice snaps. While he warmed up, Helton signaled to the Western Michigan coach, who signaled to his team. Every player on both sides of the field perked up. The official, also in on the drama, spotted the ball, placed a hand on Olson’s back, stepped out of the way, and whistled for the play to begin.
At that moment there were no competitors, no opposing sides, no winners and losers. There was only one player overcoming a massive handicap, and everyone rooted for him.
In the history of college football, the game was but one of thousands. The moment, however, was one in a million. On cue Olson spiraled a perfect snap. The ball was placed, the kick was good, and Jake was mobbed by his teammates.
It was, perhaps, the greatest extra point in the history of the Trojans.1
Don’t we love stories like that? What word captures the way such moments make us feel? How about this one: happy.
And we weren’t even there! I wasn’t in the stands. Odds are, you weren’t on the field. We didn’t see the snap or witness the kick, yet it makes us happy just to read about it.
Happiness has a way of cascading forth when humanity is unselfish enough to help others have their moment.
Gratefully, we can replicate such moments any time of the day and any place on earth. Desire a rain shower of joy? Weary of the drudgery of the day to day? Then do this: serve someone, greet someone, give up your seat, listen to someone’s story, write a check, pen a letter, give your time, your counsel, and your heart.
Make someone happy.
“It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).
It is better to forgive than to hold a grudge,
. . . better to build up than to tear down,
. . . better to include than to exclude,
. . . better to seek to understand than to disregard,
. . . better to love than to hate.
God’s solution for the ills of society is a quorum of unselfish, life-giving, God-loving folks who flow through neighborhoods and businesses like cleansing agents, bringing in the good, flushing out the bad. They hail from all corners of the globe, reflect all hues of skin. Liberal, conservative, rural, metropolitan, young, old. Yet they are bound together by this amazing discovery: happiness is found by giving it away.
If anyone is happier than the gift receiver, it is the gift giver.
Albert can tell you. He is a mail carrier in Waco, Texas. He makes daily deliveries to the furniture store where my daughter Sara used to work. The store was wildly successful. Being a start-up, the business had a constant level of chaos. Everyone was learning the system at the same time. Employees were on their feet all day. It could be a stressful place.
That’s why they all loved Albert. Sara described his arrival as the high point of the day. The high point! She remembers, “He’d ask how each of us was doing. He looked us in the eyes and said, ‘God bless you.’”
Albert delivers more than mail. He delivers happiness.
I’d like to challenge you to do the same. Here is my idea. Set out to alter the joy level of a hundred people over the next forty days. Intentionally put into practice the “one another” passages. Pray for people, serve more, practice patience, and bring the best out in people. Keep a journal in which you describe the encounter and what you did. Make note of the moment. What was the setting? What did you learn?
At the end of forty days, would your world be different?
Would you be different?
I certainly am. I took the challenge as I wrote this book. The experience was twice as difficult as I imagined but a hundred times more fulfilling than I ever thought it would be.
Here is a typical entry from my journal:
The plane departing Minneapolis was two hours late due to—as the gate attendant announced to the passengers in the waiting area—“Flight crew delay.” By the time the three flight attendants appeared, the hour was nearing bedtime. They were tired from a previous flight and were sheepish as they passed through a crowd of grim-faced passengers. Someone actually booed them.
When we finally boarded, it was still chaotic. There was not enough overhead space. Too many winter coats. I ended up placing my bag a football field away from my seat. I sat down with a sigh. Then I remembered the “Hundred Happy People Challenge.” About half an hour into the flight I had an opportunity to thank the flight attendant for the professional way in which she handled the delay. She appreciated my thanks. Yet I felt I could do more. Midway through the flight I got up from my seat and walked to her workstation.
“I want to say again I really appreciate your work.”
This time she stopped. Tears filled her eyes. “That means a lot. It has been a long day.”
Want to give the happiness challenge a try?
Everyone else shows up at work with a scowl and a list of things to get done. But you? You still have your work to accomplish, but you also have this pursuit. Whom can I help today? Which person can I encourage? Who needs a little sunshine?
Maybe the new employee who occupies the cubicle down the hall. Or the neighbor whose Chihuahua wanders into your yard. Or your teacher. Yes, your teacher. The one who sucks lemons for breakfast and devours students for lunch. Others avoid her. Not you. You look for ways to lift her spirits, brighten her day, compliment her, understand her, thank her. Will the world be different because you tried?
You bet your sweet September it will.
You will become the equivalent of an ice cream truck in your world. An ice cream truck used to visit my childhood neighborhood. To this day, a half century later, if a band plays “When the Saints Go Marching In,” my mouth begins to water, and I search my pockets for a nickel. When I heard the clanking music of the truck, I knew what to do.
I wasn’t alone. Kids came from everywhere. Little League parks. Backyards. Schoolyards. Houses disgorged youngsters the way subways unload passengers. They pedaled their bikes, shoved their scooters, or just ran like crazy. The ice cream truck was in the neighborhood.
Be that ice cream truck. Be the person that people are glad to see. Be the voice people want to hear. Drive the happiness truck.
And see if you aren’t the one smiling the most.