A few weeks ago my husband and I were “playing” basketball. I say it in quotes because he was actually playing, I was pretending.
After about ten minutes or so of playing one-on-one (and me epically failing), he started rebounding and passing me the ball to practice my shooting, which I will be the first to admit, isn’t that great. He probably allowed me to practice so I wouldn’t be a complete and total embarrassment to his three-point legacy at our local church’s pickup games.
I used to be decent at basketball. In middle school I would frequent the church’s court playing pickup basketball, around the world and of course my favorite, knockout. I will never be mistaken for Lebron James’ sister or Michael Jordan’s cousin, but I had some skills. Or enough skills to not receive the mockery so many of my shyer classmates received in gym class.
However, those skills did not stick with me. Their faithfulness to me was short-lived before they latched onto the person who kept them sharpened on a consistent basis. I fell more in love with people and with creating music than I did with sports jerseys or balls that bounced.
Fast forward to this game with my husband.
He continued to pass me the ball, giving me opportunity after opportunity to sharpen my shot. Never once did he laugh, never once did he sigh of exasperation. He never stop giving me chances.
But that wasn’t what captivated me. His silence was what I found life-giving. He never once opened his lips until I asked his help. Because you see dear reader, he had once shown me months before how to effectively place my small hands on the basketball to increase the probability to sink the basket. However, in my short-term memory when it comes to all things sports, I forgot. And so, I asked him to remind me what he had once shown me.
He kindly and so very patiently did. Showing me how to place each finger and what angle for my elbow and shoulder to be at to effectively “put the brown thing in the round thing” as our local high school students have on their team shirts. He gave me all the knowledge I needed, but it was still up to me to make the basket. It was still my choice to choose to follow the instructions or not. My husband was speaking the truth, no matter if I believed him or not, but it was up to me to decide to follow it. It was still up to me to trust him.
Oh sweet reader, how we are the very same as our creator. We hear His words, His truth, what He has to say about us as people and what He has to say about the lives we live, but it’s up to us whether we believe Him or not.
In a world that feels like there are no absolutes or there is no way of knowing something or someone 100%, we buy the lie that we too will never be fully known. And so we fix our energy on pretending. We get up in the morning and put on masks and build walls around our lives because we believe no one, not even this God we’ve heard about, can ever truly have a plan and a purpose for us. We can do it on our own we tell ourselves. We can keep shooting the basketball, and just maybe we’ll make enough to fake it.
“Fake it till you make it.” Right?
And so God continues to pass us the ball.
We step up to the baseline.
We miss the shot.
He passes it back.
We take a step closer to the basket. Maybe we’ll be better if we get closer.
We miss it.
He passes it back.
Waiting.
Waiting for the time we ask for His help. The time where we drop the ego, rip the jersey and ask for His assistance. What His plans are for our lives. What He has to say about the person we are.
His truth is still the truth, no matter if we believe it.
The game changes when we realize God has been patiently passing us the ball this whole time. The game changes when we just finally asked him how to shoot instead of depending on our own skills.
Your life isn’t changed just because you fell in love with Jesus, your life changes, even more, when you realize when Jesus has been loving you from day one.
Even in our mess.
Even in the muck.
Even in the dark.
God has been running after you with all that He is.
The game finally changes when you let him catch up.
