I once watched some little kids play soccer. These kids were only five or six years old, but they were playing a real game - - a serious game -- two teams, complete with coaches, uniforms, & parents. I didnt know any of them, so I was able to enjoy the game without the distraction of being anxious about winning or losing - I wished the parents & coaches could have done the same. The teams were pretty evenly matched. I will just call them Team One & Team Two. Nobody scored in the first period. The kids were hilarious. They were clumsy & terribly inefficient. They fell over their own feet, they stumbled over the ball, they kicked at the ball & missed it, but they didnt seem to care. They were having fun. In the second quarter, the Team One coach pulled out what must have been his first team & put in the scrubs, except for his best player who now guarded the goal. The game took a dramatic turn. I guess winning is important even when youre five years old -- because the Team Two coach left his best players in, & the Team One scrubs were no match for them. Team Two swarmed around the little guy who was now the Team One goalie. He was an outstanding athlete, but he was no match for three or four who were also very good. Team Two began to score. The lone goalie gave it everything he had, recklessly throwing his body in front of incoming balls, trying valiantly to stop them. Team Two scored two goals in quick succession. It infuriated the young boy. He became a raging maniac -- shouting, running, diving. With all the stamina he could muster, he covered the boy who now had the ball, but that boy kicked it to another boy twenty feet away, & by the time he repositioned himself, it was too late -- they scored a third goal. I soon learned who the goalies parents were. They were nice, decent-looking people. I could tell that his dad had just come from the office -- he still had his suit & tie on. They yelled encouragement to their son. I became totally absorbed, watching the boy on the field & his parents on the sidelines. After the third goal, the little kid changed. He could see it was no use; he couldnt stop them. He didnt quit, but he became quietly desperate. Futility was written all over him. His father changed too. He had been urging his son to try harder - yelling advice & encouragement. But then he changed. He became anxious. He tried to say that it was okay - to hang in there. He grieved for the pain his son was feeling. After the fourth goal, I knew what was going to happen. Ive seen it before. The little boy needed help so badly, & there was no help to be had. He retrieved the ball from the net & handed to the referee - & then he cried. He just stood there while huge tears rolled down both cheeks. He went to his knees & put his fists to his eyes - & he cried the tears of the helpless & brokenhearted. When the boy went to his knees, I saw the father start onto the field. His wife clutched his arm & said, Jim, dont. Youll embarrass him. But he tore loose from her & ran onto the field. He wasnt supposed to - the game was still in progress. Suit, tie, dress shoes, & all - he charged onto the field, & he picked up his son so everybody would know that this was his boy, & he hugged him & held him & cried with him. Ive never been so proud of a man in my life. He carried him off the field, & when he got close to the sidelines, I heard him say, Scotty, Im so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son. Daddy, the boy sobbed, I couldnt stop them. I tried, Daddy, I tried & tried, & they scored on me. Scotty, it doesnt matter how many times they scored on you. Youre my son, & Im proud of you. I want you to go back out there & finish the game. I know you want to quit, but you cant. And, son, youre going to get scored on again, but it doesnt matter. Go on, now. It made a difference - I could tell it did. When youre all alone, & youre getting scored on - & you cant stop them - it means a lot to know that it doesnt matter to those who love you. The little guy ran back on to the field - & they scored two more times - but it was okay.... I get scored on every day. I try so hard. I recklessly throw my body in every direction. I fume & rage. I struggle with temptation & sin with every ounce of my being - & Satan laughs. And he scores again, & the tears come, & I go to my knees - sinful, convicted, helpless. And my Father - my Father rushes right out on the field - right in front of the whole crowd - the whole jeering, laughing world - & He picks me up, and He hugs me & He says, Lindy, Im so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are My daughter, & because I control the outcome of this game, I declare you -- The Winner.
Posted on: Mon, 18 Nov 2013 07:03:22 +0000
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