Yeah I played basketball. As a tall girl I was thrown in there whether I liked it or not. I always felt like I had 4 legs and 5 arms when I played, running or tripping akimbo down the court. It took me til 11th grade to know what boxing out meant. But at least it gave me a great analogy.
I was wrestling with a difficult situation, where I was worried about a loved one and didn't know what to do. I needed help from somewhere, but I'm not down with the Christian version of God. But then I thought about the young man who managed our JV basketball team. That's who I thought of as God last night.
The guy that brought out chairs during time outs. The guy that made sure out water bottles were ice cold, or better yet, had some lemon-lime Gatorade in them. The guy that slipped me some recon on the center on the other team, about a weakness of hers I could exploit. The guy who said "No biggie, you'll get 'em next time," after I missed the foul shot at the end of the game that could have won it for us. The guy who rode in the back of the bus with us to away games, laughing at our silly jokes and indulging in "Never have I ever" games. The guy who met us at Bojangles for breakfast on home game mornings.
He cheered. He listened. He offered advice. He kept secrets. He laughed. He cared. He gave us the confidence to go out and knock skulls, praising us individually for the things that made us special, for the skills we brought that no one else had.
That's the God I needed. Not a holier than thou omnipotent deity I can never touch, hear or see. But a flesh and blood partner and cheerleader, assuring me I had the gifts to get through even the toughest spots.
So instead of praying about my problem and hoping it would resolve, I got up, took action, and found a resolution myself. Power in people, everyday people. The Gods next door.
Thanks Marc Campsen, JD Saunders, and Tom Gill.
