The Play Maker

Walking into the gym, I saw third and fourth grade girls warming up. They had attended practices and studied the plays. Some of the girls patiently waited, confidence emanating from their faces, while others nervously paced.

As the game started, it seemed we might be a bit outmatched. But the girls doggedly continued racing up and down the court trying to remember the difference between defense and offense. As the coach yelled reminders and instructions, his words were joined by parents’ voices. Some shouting encouragement, others yelling instructions. Once in a while, a reprimand hung in the air.

Now, a friend and I always joke that should we coach, she’d be the “bad guy” while I’d be the overindulgent (read: nonproductive) coach, promising a trip for ice cream after the game “no matter the score.”  And my softer side was coming out now. I felt sympathy tugging at my heart as some girls looked clearly bewildered and scared while most went about the game putting the pieces together: offense, defense, plays…working all these pieces together to play the game of basketball.

And it hit me.

This is what I feel like most days.

I’ve read the Play Book. I’ve listened to the Coach. I’ve rehearsed possible scenarios in my head, and visualized what they might look like out on the court in a real game.

But just like the bewildered grade-schoolers, sometimes the plays and shots come at me faster than I’d like once I’m actually on the court. I don’t take time for a time-out and end up winging it, forgetting all the plays I’d rehearsed with Coach.

And sometimes, I fail.

But the thing is, God doesn’t keep a score board for me. Others do – they keep score of my inadequacies, my ‘hypocrisies’, my falls and stumbles. From their vantage point, it is simple: I know the plays, now that I’m on the court, I just need to put ‘em into action.

Yet from my vantage point, the plays aren’t so clear. I have circumstances and people coming at me at an intense speed. Through the sweat dripping off my brow, I see the Coach holding up the Play Book and calling my name, but sometimes I try to do things on my own because I can’t seem to hear His voice. Or I have the right play but use it at the wrong moment.  I trip and fall. And finally, either by admitting my need for help or by a holy time out called by the Play Maker, I crawl over to the bench. Tears in my eyes, wearing my failure like it’s my uniform, I grab the Play Book and start searching again. And sometimes the Coach shows me what I’ve got to do next time. Sometimes, He asks me to redo what I’ve already done. And always, His sweet grace surrounds me as He underscores the points in the Book, hands me Living Water and says,

“Take a swig and get back out there.”

Then I start playing again. And I sometimes I score. And most often, I fall. And because I am vocal about my faith, people view my stumbles or inadequacies as pretenses or hypocrisies. 

But He still isn’t keeping score. When I look at His score board, it simply says “Redeemed.” And He’s given me amazing teammates who hold me accountable for my game, who lift me up when I’m beat and who study the plays with me.

And so I keep on, keepin’ on.