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THE CHAMPION'S CODE

Zondervan

Chapter One

"Boy, God will never use a person like you."

The man was furious, evincing no pity as he pointed at me with his bony finger. The words were harsh as a stone, cutting, categorical. His German accent was heavier than usual, perhaps because his anxiety was deeply rooted. The pastor was angry and his condemnation would handicap my life for a long time. A phrase like that makes a 15-year-old boy feel like failure defines him.

In essence, this is a book of secret codes — of those things that you had always wanted to ask but never dared. Perhaps you came to believe that you are the only one with this hidden syndrome.

Do you want to know what happens in the heart of a young person with this type of complex? Follow the example of myself, your servant, and observe me at the tender age of fifteen. What that German patriarch said had some truth to it — I was not behaving as a member of God's great team.

From the age of twelve I had a problem getting enough to eat, along with the inevitable growth spurt that happens during a boy's adolescence. I was taking a variety of vitamin pills, but nothing helped me gain even one miserable pound of weight. My skinny legs literally looked like those of an ostrich, my knees like knobs sticking out of my short pants. A rather prominent nose and protruding eyes were also among the physical characteristics that, together, made me a very introverted person whose inner world was in chaos. Do not discount what I am trying to say. Only those who have walked this path in their own lives can fully understand and look back with a wry smile.

Those horrifying gaffes that made you a "nerd" (know-itall) — unpopular and detested by your peers. The belly bulging over your belt, even though you tried to hide it by standing up straight and raising your chin. Those crooked yellow teeth (I know this is unpleasant but it helps to remember). The special shoes for flat feet. The enormous ears that you could not flatten or hide under your hair. Those frustrating tremors in the throat, the sudden loss of voice whenever you tried to speak in public. The sudden squeaks in the voice of a teenager and the pimples, oh, those terrorizing intruders that threatened to ruin your face and the rest of your reputation. Have you been there? If you recognize that bitter place of disorientation and damaged self-esteem, I am sure that your smile may be tinged with a certain aura of pain and nostalgia.

I still remember my nickname in high school. It really bothered me. Every time they called me by that name, I would get angry. My body was so thin, so fragile in appearance, that they dubbed me "Dead Man."

When it came time to choose teams for a sports competition, no one wanted the "Dead Man" in their ranks.

"He doesn't even know how to run," they would say.

"It's not that he doesn't know how, he just can't ... he's already dead, he's pale, his complexion is colorless."

When it came time for jokes, one fat boy whose own selfesteem was torn to shreds and myself, the "Dead Man," were the perfect targets for rotten jokes.

But the worst came during the summer – three long and feverish months of torture. I would try to find ingenious ways to avoid wearing short pants. These only accentuated even more my thin and rickety-looking legs. To someone with an adolescent complex, extremely hot weather matters little. Long sleeves provided a refuge for skeletal arms. Overdressing always seems like a shield from acid jokes and piercing looks.

If you add to that the pathetic words of a pastor who, filled with rage, points you out with his index finger and reminds you that you don't fit on God's team, then you no longer live, you only try to survive.

If at fifteen years of age your whole world is of the opinion that you are "dead," the future does not seem very encouraging.

Fortunately, history tells us that many "dead" people decided to change their destiny.

YOUR NOBLE SHIELD

—Someday, I would like to be one of the king's knights, —a little blond boy says as he watches a military parade.

—Ha, ha, ha! A knight? The son of a roofer wants to be a knight! — An elderly and quarrelsome neighbor mocks the dreams of the ambitious little boy. —It would be easier to change the stars than to make you a knight.

The child feels a sting from this dart of common sense. Logic says that he is not of noble birth. The neighbor has already said what everyone knows: he is the son of a roofer, just a man who repairs leaks.

Nevertheless, the young boy has a hope, tenuous though it is, but still he has hope. He is the boxer who has lost every round and yet is prepared to fight one more round. He is the runner who sprains his ankle fifty feet away from the finish line but continues to run.

—Will I be able to change the stars someday? —he asks his father.

—If you really want to, you can change your star —the wise roofer replies.

The movie titled "A Knight's Tale" tells the story of someone who was able to change his destiny. He defied logic and common sense. He should have been a roofer, but he preferred to become a knight. He participated in combat as if he were of noble lineage and won many victories so that by the time they learn that he does not have royal blood, he is already too popular and a recognized champion. Finally, a king hands him the title he has truly earned. The heart of a lion can change your future even when you are "dead."

You can change your destiny.

"You can make it difficult for me to become a doctor," Patch Adams told the commission composed of distinguished doctors. "You can fire me from the medical school faculty. You can rescind my diploma. But I will still be a doctor in my heart. You cannot break my will. You cannot stop a hurricane. I will always be there. You must decide whether you want to have a colleague ... or a thorn in your side."

The doctors listened to the aspiring doctor in stunned silence. This man had been able, in only a few months, using the unorthodox method of humor, tending to the patients' emotional well-being as well as physical ailments, to cure many people. Again we see the same common denominator: You are not worthy. You are only a roofer. But people who are determined to change their destiny cannot be broken, and Patch Adams went on to become one of the most well-known specialists in the world. He founded his own medical facility, and his influence later spread around the planet with the discovery of revolutionary new therapy methods that he shared with the medical world.

Do you want to hear another fascinating story? What do you think about being able to sit down in a comfortable theater seat to enjoy watching a full-length movie that the most well-known screenwriters in Hollywood failed to capture? Relax and observe.

A man waits in the silence of a prison cell. An annoying drop of water falls on the harsh concrete. The heat is oppressive and humid, but in these extreme circumstances, the temperature is the least of his worries. Flies are mercilessly swarming all around him, but he doesn't have the energy to swat them away. In any event, they may be the only companionship worthy of mention. The other men regard him with suspicion. They watch him warily. To be honest, the last few months have been very difficult for this quiet prisoner. His brothers hated him with all their hearts and set a trap for him — a classic family quarrel that ended in tragedy, in deeply rooted resentments.

The man is barely a shadow of the boy who once sported an impeccably tailored suit of Italian designer brand, and exuded a delicate aroma of French perfume. Now he is dressed in rags, a sort of loincloth. It is said in the cellblock that he is marked for disgrace. He could have been free — he had risen to become the supervisor for an important magnate. But the gossips say that he made a pass at the beautiful wife of the millionaire. At the time he denied the charge. He has denied the accusation, but "he cannot expect us to believe that it was she who sexually assaulted him," they opined.

"And if it was as he says, he should have slept with her," says the old recluse they called 'The Greek.' "One night of pleasure might have given him his passport to freedom."

The mysterious man continues to recline against the dirty walls of the prison cell. It is almost as if he knows something the others do not. He behaves as though he were represented by a clever attorney who will appeal his sentence, or else perhaps he senses that death is near and will bring relief from so much unjust suffering. He smiles in the silence, displaying no agitation. Technically he is dead, without hope. But he no longer feels the heat nor does he seem annoyed with his shackles. It is almost as if he can see through the moldy walls of the cell. The other prisoners assume that he is on the brink of insanity. But the man waits expectantly, as one who believes that he can still change his star. He takes the prison cell as part of the plan, as the final step towards the future.

The squeaky metal doors of the cellblock are pushed open and two guards enter the room. They are searching for the man. One of the guards says in a deep, guttural voice: "Pharaoh wants to see you. He has had a dream and he has heard that you can interpret dreams."

The prisoner does not seem surprised. He climbs the steps that will take him forever from the prison cell, but he is silent.

The other prisoners watch the man's back as he walks away and disappears. If they have the good fortune to live, the next time they see him he will be appareled in the royal robes of a king, resembling a Pharaoh. The magnate will rue the day that he dismissed the man. The wife will confess that she accused him out of spite, unjustly. And his family will bow before him to beg for mercy. The prisoners will regard him as a legend.

His old cellmate, 'The Greek,' will boast and lie: "I knew him when he was a master of nothing but we always knew he would go far. I always knew."

Joseph will rule the nation, occupying a presidential throne and administering the granaries of Egypt. He would learn to win, to experience the thrill of victory.

You, too, can change your star.

You only need to live from the inside out, with an unbroken spirit. Be lion-hearted. Take by surprise those photographers who specialize only on the most famous faces. The commentators and ethical commissioners will not be able to explain where you came from — you have no record, you were dead. Perhaps they were expecting a cypress tree to burn, but there is only a burning bush. Logic says that you should have died a fisherman in the remote village of Capernaum, but your passing shadow heals the sick. They have placed cameras and mobile television equipment around the palace preparing for a satellite broadcast around the world, but the king decides to be born in a stable.

"You can deny me a diploma from the Biblical seminary. You can keep me from obtaining a ministerial license, but I will still be a preacher in my heart. You cannot break my will. You cannot stop a hurricane. I will always be there. You must choose whether you want a fellow preacher ... or a thorn in your side."

I am sure that those fellow students in high school who called me names and mocked my rickety thin physique would not connect that "Dead Man" with the man I am today. Indeed, one of them at thirty years of age accepted Christ at one of the many crusades we held in the River Plate stadium without realizing that he once sat on the bench next to that night's preacher.

"I once knew a Gebel in high school," he told his wife later that night. "He had the same name as this Dante Gebel, the youth pastor, but the one I knew was an idiot."

Don't blame him. When you are not popular and they have destroyed your self-esteem, the only reminder is a yellowing photo in an old school yearbook. That unhappy guy in the last row.

Two weeks after that crusade, when the man realized that the idiot from high school and the youth pastor who had preached to sixty thousand young people and introduced him to Christ at the crusade were the same person, he felt like one of Joseph's brothers.

Now, stop for a minute.

Maybe I did not express myself clearly:

I did not ask for a little bit of your attention, I want it all.

Watch me carefully.

Roofer.

Slave.

Self-conscious.

Imprisoned in the dark cell of a complex.

Sentenced by the bony finger of a merciless leader.

I want you to understand what I am about to say. Close your fist and get a grip because you are going to change your inheritance. You remind me of myself when I was fifteen years old; I did not tell you to close your hand halfway, I told you to make a fist so firmly that you can almost feel your fingernails digging into the palms of your hands. Whether you are fifteen years old ... or fifty.

Never forget these words: You have the heart of a nobleman. You possess the sacred flame. The sword of the Great King rests on your right shoulder and will change your future forever.

Now, hear the words of the King.

One by one.

Ingest them. Internalize them.

Memorize them always.

Transform them into your theme song, your shield of nobility.

You can change your star.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from THE CHAMPION'S CODE by Dante Gebel Copyright © 2011 by Dante Gebel. Excerpted by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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