New Orleans Saints Forums - blackandgold.com - Article Guest MMQB: Jabari Greer on post-bounty Saints; an inspirational tale

Along the stream that ran between his house and mine, my friend and I sought to perfect the art of play. He would seek while I would hide; we built forts amongst the giant boulders and, amongst the old oaks, we would climb. The unimaginable amusement we experienced validated the joy of youthfulness in our life; it encouraged us to play more, to shine brighter, and led us to fulfillment.

There, along the base of the tranquil stream was the oak of wisdom. The grandeur of the old oak was astonishing, and reminded me of the stories my father would tell me before bed as a child. As we gathered closer, we discovered two seeds. As I glanced upon my friend's seed, I noticed imperfections he thought perfect; I commented on cracks in his seed he deemed creative. One glance upon my seed, and my soul's thirst was at once satisfied; my heart's hunger was finally filled to excess. To me, my seed reflected a truth within my spirit that until then remained silent, but now spoke clearly. My friend and I cared deeply for our two seeds, and out of exhilaration decided to return home as champions.

As I entered the house, my father greeted me. I opened my hand slowly, revealing my seed, and at once my father's face beamed with joy. "My son, this is the Seed of Destiny," he said, "given as a gift by the Gardener to one chosen for the task." I was given precise instructions to wash it off and place it under my pillow. As I prepared for bed, after thanking the Gardener for this gift, I blew out my light. The luminescence from my seed filled my room, creating amazement in my mind and peace of purpose in my soul; I closed my eyes, and at once I was asleep.

I arose the next morning refreshed and assured, renewed with a sense of purpose. Clothed, fed and collected in a matter of minutes, I prepared to leave for the day. "Where is your seed, son?" my father asked in a voice calm, but convicting. "You must understand that this gift requires great sacrifice," he told me as he approached the door. "Continue to carry this seed, my son, nurture it, water it, and in time, it will bloom into something so beautiful."

The seed I loved, once smooth and manageable, over time had become jagged and course, almost unbearable to carry. Content with my effort, I put my seed down and walked away. My father, returning home to see my seed jagged and alone, summoned me to the table. "Son, although our destinies can sometimes become rough and seemingly unmanageable, we must strengthen our grip. Although painful at first, our hands callous and contour into a strong support, giving a firm foundation for something so special." He asked me to hold my hand out across the table, placed the jagged seed in my palm, and used his callous hands to close mine. Applying tremendous pressure to my grip, he assured me of my own strength; the excruciating pain drew blood from my hands, tears from my eyes, and a smile from my heart. For I knew I could bear this pain, and enjoy the passion that runs through it.

That fall, as the first foliage lay upon our acreage, I understood that I too must lay to rest that which enticed me as a child, and with my seed sprouting, find a place for it to lay its roots. As I approached the door, my father with a joyful heart stood at an arm's grasp: "Son, I have seen you grow from a child, concerned with life's fulfillment, to a man, searching for life's truths. Stay humble, serve others, and always allow the Gardener to grow through you. I love you, son." He embraced me and kissed my forehead, signifying that I was no longer his to protect. With my own destiny coming to pass, I knew I must strengthen my grip, and continue to endue.

So I left.

After many years passed, I returned to the land of my youth. Although I had left a young man, inexperienced, and oft naïve; I returned inspired, while once my seed was thought to be the solution to life's problems, it had become weathered, beaten and almost broken by the torrential winds of life. I had to become firmly rooted in the lessons I had learned, and truths I had found.

My seed continues to comfort me with a patience that only a few understand. I reminisce on my father's wisdom, not fully understood until now: "Son, our trees must be strong, with roots locking our foundation securely in love, and we must provide not only home for fowl but a place of respite to the weary. It is in your shade that your children will find their seeds, and they will climb your sturdy branches and tell you secrets in a time you will never visit. And when the wind blows ... we can tell them stories of a place they've never known."

Read More: Guest MMQB: Jabari Greer on post-bounty Saints; an inspirational tale - NFL - Peter King - SI.com