Constructing the goal

Do you have a fun holiday memory?  Our trip to the Dallas area last month still makes me smile, yet maybe in an unsuspecting way.  We drove to visit family and offered to help assemble their new basketball goal.  Outside temperature was in the 30s, so we opted for opening the big box in the garage.  My brother led the charge, my husband collaborated on tools and problem-solving, and my nephews and I at different times stood near to await our assignments.  Actually the “stood near” part is a loose term because some certain nephews who remain nameless here seemed to have a knack for disappearing from the work site.  Nevertheless, this was the only time I could remember us building something together, so I was excited.  Soon I’m chuckling at how motley a crew we are.  Emanating from one side of the garage, distinct sighs of boredom set in.  From another direction, a complaint:  “It’s cold!”  With my brother staying studious to the manufacturer’s instruction sheet, my husband asked, “Hey, do you have a rat-tail file?,” to which one nephew answered, “I have no idea what these tools are!”  I then hear a reprimand to another nephew for playing on his phone.  An adult chimes in, “Uh-oh, we skipped a step.”  Another, “How far back do we need to go?”  And really I’m still chuckling today because the task blew everybody’s cover.  Beyond any dressed-up, cleaned-up holiday presentation and without the hype of any fancy vacation, this rather mundane task of assembling a basketball goal had opened a door that I loved.  To work alongside, to find common purpose, to realize in the end that you actually don’t want to quit, even lamenting “Oh, man, we’re just now getting the hang of this!” is a true blessing.  To have discovered each other’s mechanical talents (or lack thereof), to have trudged together through one of those beleaguered trips to the hardware store to buy an additional ¼-inch tool, and to have laughed at ourselves for the honesty that’s inevitable in daily chores is actually precious insight.  Psalm 84:10 reminds us, “Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere; I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked.”  It was a Christmastime gift I wouldn’t trade.  Thank you, Lord, for opening our eyes when You bestow blessings.  And thanks to my sister-in-law for hot chocolate, knit caps, and warm gloves that day.

Volleyball & Jesus

What can the Lord do with the game of volleyball?  My friend tells a story that takes the game far beyond spikes, serves, and blocks.  She tells of her husband serving as videographer for their 2 daughters’ club team.  Recently her husband prepared to show the team a video of a past game, but somehow the video wouldn’t work.  Somehow the bells and whistles inside the laptop wouldn’t let the video play, and at that point, I imagine the team dismissing from their huddle in disappointment.  The coach opted for a new plan of action and asked one of my friend’s daughters to select some music from her iPod as background for practice.  And that’s where the fun began.  The only music available on the iPod was Christian music, and so the gym suddenly became witness to the name of Jesus being sung up into the rafters.  Amidst all the voices that called and yelled on the practice court that day, the hallowed name of the Lord weaved in and around them all.  What wonderful testament to the idea of readiness that's mentioned in 1 Peter 3:15, saying, “. . . Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have . . . with gentleness and respect.”  In this case, a young Believer stood ready in the midst of an ordinary volleyball practice, and in the course of answering her coach’s request for music, the name of the Lord was celebrated into the open air.  All those months ahead when my friend asked us to pray about volleyball for her family, never was the issue actually only volleyball.  With the Lord, any single circumstance holds capacity for so much more.  And still now I pray for the words and melodies sung during that volleyball session to continue to stir among the team and their coach and all who would hear.

Time for tennis shoes

I would much rather wear flip-flops.  They’re just so easy to put on, whereas the tennis shoes require socks and tying laces and all that preparation that us non-exercise people associate with sweat.  I actually do enjoy walking, especially when I meet up with the orange cat down the street, and I did enjoy trimming trees last weekend and shoveling dirt, but I never look forward to sweat dripping in my eyes and down my back.  Yet yesterday I dreaded something even more.  I dreaded my doctor’s appointment because it reminded me that I still had not lost the weight I had intended to lose.  I fare real well for about 3 weeks.  Then invariably it seems the weight hasn’t fallen off fast enough, and I succumb to the temptation “Why bother anymore?”  But on my way home from the doctor yesterday, I determined to restart.  Alas, I will not quit, even if it’s my hundredth attempt!  This aspect of exercise, or the lack thereof, is certainly one of my trials.  It's on the same shelf with the co-worker who challenges our every nerve and the wayward child for whom we grieve.  They’re all situations that stare us down and threaten our well-being.  Some lend widespread angst, and some stay more internal, but they’re all trials.  Yet the Lord loves each soul in the midst of the turmoil, and there’s blessing in store as He fine-tunes and reshapes us through these fires that singe.  And here now I endeavor to begin again.  One of my favorite memories is of a middle school track meet where one hurdler barely stood taller than his hurdles.  This young man approached his first hurdle with great gusto, yet down he fell.  That same gusto took him to the second hurdle, though down he fell again.  Then the crowd began to cringe and shield their faces in anticipation of what might come with the third.  But evidently the pain was more in watching, for rarely do we witness such unabashed intent to run a race that appeared impossible from the start.  This young man’s perseverance brought roars of applause from all ages, even from those who had ridiculed at the start why anyone his size would ever attempt such a race.  We found ourselves wiping away oceans of tears that gushed of admiration, as this young man drew a standing ovation before he ever crossed the finish line.  He had wholeheartedly aimed to jump each and every hurdle, yet proceeding to knock down each and every one, never once appearing defeated.  And it’s to that same perseverance that I aspire, not because my doctor tells me exercise is good or because all the fitness magazines say so, but ultimately because verses such as Hebrews 12 tell me the Lord wants us up and running.  I want Him to be my reason, my incentive.  I’ll keep the flip-flops for later, but I am now walking to the closet to set those tennis shoes in motion.