Unashamed
I was watching 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, and parents. I didn't 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 and coaches could have done the same.
The teams were pretty evenly matched. I will just call them Team One and Team Two. Nobody scored in the first period. The kids were hilarious. They were clumsy and terribly inefficient. They fell over their own feet, they stumbled over the ball, they kicked at the ball and missed it but they didn't seem to care. They were having fun.
In the second quarter, the Team One coach pulled out what must have been his first team and 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 you're five years old because the Team Two coach left his best players in, and 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, and by the time he repositioned himself, it was too late they scored a third goal.
I soon learned who the goalie's 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 and tie on. They yelled encouragement to their son. I became totally absorbed, watching the boy on the field and his parents on the sidelines.
After the third goal, the little kid changed. He could see it was no use; he couldn't stop them. He didn't 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 and 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. I've seen it before. The little boy needed help so badly, and there was no help to be had. He retrieved the ball from the net and handed to the referee and then he cried. He just stood there while huge tears rolled down both cheeks. He went to his knees and but his fists to his eyes and he cried the tears of the helpless and brokenhearted.
When the boy went to his knees, I saw the father start onto the field. His wife clutched his arm and said, "Jim, don't. You'll embarrass him." But he tore loose from her and ran onto the field. He wasn't supposed to the game was still in progress. Suit, tie, dress shoes, and all he charged onto the field, and he picked up his son so everybody would know that this was his boy, and he hugged him and held him and cried with him. I've never been so proud of a man in my life.
He carried him off the field, and when he got close to the sidelines I heard him say, "Scotty, I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son." "Daddy," the boy sobbed, "I couldn't stop them. I tried, Daddy, I tried and tried, and they scored on me." "Scotty, it doesn't matter how many times they scored on you. You're my son, and I'm proud of you. I want you to go back out there and finish the game. I know you want to quit, but you can't. And, son, you're going to get scored on again, but it doesn't matter. Go on, now."
It made a difference I could tell it did. When you're all alone, and you're getting scored on and you can't stop them it means a lot to know that it doesn't matter to those who love you. The little guy ran back on to the field and 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 and rage. I struggle with temptation and sin with every ounce of my being and Satan laughs. And he scores again, and the tears come, and 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 and he picks me up, and he hugs me and he says, "I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my child, and because I control the outcome of this game, I declare you The Winner."
(Author: Unknown to me)
Page Dedication
To My Friends
From the Heart of Angel45_2B
I can understand how this little boy felt trying so hard and yet not being able to prevent the others from scoring. I never played soccer, but I played baseball with all the neighborhood kids and of course with my two brothers. I can remember having the attitude that what ever my oldest brother could do I could do too. Well needless to say that it didn't always work out that way because we were on opposite teams and a good many times he would strike me out instead of letting me hit a home run like he had done. He didn't always do the pitching for his team and when he didn't then he would try and distract me. And that is the same way it is in life too. There is always some area that we are not experts in and sometimes those weaknesses seem to get zeroed in on. In our Christian walk it is Satan that stands back and watches us just so that he can do some jeering of his own and some tempting too. Then when you feel like throwing in the towel and calling it quits God takes you in His arms and tells you to "hold on my child you are not alone I love you don't quit." And when you feel that people have turned their back on you and have walked away just remember we are the Winners, but we still have a game to finish playing.
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Copyrighted © January 18, 2003 by Angel45_2B
This Page was formerly on my web site
The Heart of Angel
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SONG TITLE
"It's Not For Me To Say"
Hillary's Midi's