GROUND ZERO

When old Aristotle answered the question, “What is a friend?” he replied, “A single soul dwelling in two bodies.” Actually, for Dee Kimbrell, Tom Hicks, and myself friendship dwells in three bodies. God has a unique way of bringing and bonding together the most unusual people at the strangest times for a common purpose more noble than anyone might have suspected.

So it is that we find ourselves sitting on my breezeway, three close friends gathered together to take a God-given idea and try to put it into words. There I am, a preacher’s son who has spent his entire life promoting people and merchandise, writing a book about God. Next to me is an ex-hippie turned recycling entrepreneur, and beside him sits a beautiful, artistic mom who has a gift for teaching children about God through nature. I do not understand how we were brought together, but I do know why and by Whom.

For most people, the phrase “back to ground zero” is a fairly common expression. It means starting again with nothing. It usually has something to do with stripping away, with back to basics, with eliminating nonessentials. But for us, Ground Zero has a deeply spiritual and inspired meaning. When we speak of Ground Zero, we’re talking about starting all over again with God. For us—and for the purposes of this book—it means getting rid of preconceived ideas, other people’s opinions, and irrelevant religious images and discovering God one-on-one. By the time Ground Zero is reached, it also means a promising new beginning. And we are determined to find a way to communicate Ground Zero, and all it offers, to those who want to know who God really is.

My mind flashes away from the breezeway, back to another time and place—a hurried morning some years ago. My career involves the professional management and promotion of celebrities and former NFL quarterbacks. That morning I was flying to California with one of them—Kenny Stabler—for a promotional appearance. The overhead light had indicated that it was okay for us to loosen our seat belts, but the pilot was oblivious to what the next few minutes would bring. I was about to receive a jolt that would change my life forever.

Just as we were reaching the tops of the clouds, Kenny turned to me and asked very thoughtfully, “So, tell me what you think about the Big Guy.”

Totally caught off guard, I more or less stammered, “The ‘Big Guy’? Do you mean . . . God?”

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding, “the Big Guy. I can tell you have a different kind of relationship with Him. I want you to tell me about Him.”

Fortunately for me, at about that time the flight attendant arrived at our seats and began taking Kenny’s order for the in-flight meal. I looked out the window and began fighting back the tears. It was no secret that Kenny had a colorful reputation. I silently appealed to God: You want me to tell Kenny Stabler about You? Kenny, “The Snake,” Stabler, Bad Boy of the NFL? Who would have thought that he would even want to know about You?

The stewardess interrupted my thoughts with a request for my order. I turned to Kenny when she had moved to the next row and I stalled, “So what do you think about Him?”

“I’m not sure what I think about Him,” he began, “but I don’t think He likes me very much. I think He frowns at me, a lot.” He pinched the skin between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “In fact, I think I am the one that put that big wrinkle right between His eyes.”

We both chuckled at the image Kenny had painted with his words. It didn’t take long for me to realize that he had been thinking long and hard about God, and the next few minutes turned very serious. The entire scope of what I thought about people “looking for God” was about to change. Kenny and I shared our “growing up” stories and a picture unfolded of a young, gifted athlete raised in a small southern Alabama town. His family didn’t attend a church regularly, and no one had ever really talked to him about God.

His extraordinary skills in baseball and football were noticed as early as junior high school by legendary coach Paul “Bear” Bryant. After four championship seasons at the University of Alabama, Kenny was chosen in the second round of the 1968 draft and, as quarterback, took the Oakland Raiders to several division titles and eventually a victory in Super Bowl XI.

In all those years he hadn’t exactly been in the frame of mind to think of needing “something more.” After all, he was an All-Pro quarterback in the NFL. Everyone wanted to be his friend; he seemed to get whatever he wanted even before he asked. For Ken Stabler, life was one big party. He had it all. Who needed God?

But lately, he had begun wondering if there wasn’t something to this “God stuff.” It wasn’t about the angry men he saw on TV who were pointing and shouting things about the end of time or the bad-hair preachers who held their weekly “beg-a-thons.” It wasn’t about the folks who were in the church pew every Sunday but didn’t look any happier than he felt. It was about something much more personal than that—he knew that there was an emptiness within