Shattered Dreams

I was going to be the greatest basketball star Dillingham ever saw. Really, I was. I had been planning this in my head for as long as I could remember. And seeing as there was nothing else to do in town, being the greatest basketball star seemed like a really good idea. It was better than getting high, drunk or pregnant, which seemed like the only other options for kids.

We didn’t have little league or any such thing. So I didn’t get to prove my muster until I reached 7th grade and could play Junior High basketball. I was tall and getting taller, so things were looking good for my plan of becoming the greatest basketball star. I showed up the first day of practice. This was all part of the plan. We had to do layups. Coach didn’t show us how to do a layup, so I figured, since this WAS my dream and I was tall, a layup wasn’t too hard.

Coach talked about offense and defense. Having never played basketball before I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. (Hey, we didn’t have internet back then, give me a break!) He made us run lines at the end of practice. Whew! Those really hurt. I was in the middle of a major growth spurt and those lines really did kill my knees. (Just so you know, I grew five inches in a little over a year, so there).

So we kept practicing. I kept doing my layups. I kept trying to follow coach when he talked about offense and defense. I kept running those lines, though my knees were killing me. Frankly, I was killing it. My plan was succeeding.

The first game was a home game. Not sure who we were playing, but I was ready. All twelve of us were ready and raring to go. Game time. I wasn’t one of the starting five, but that’s okay, I was only a seventh grader. It was the eighth graders who were starting. Everything was part of the plan. I was playing basketball, getting taller, and working the knees. It was all coming true. The game started. The starting five, started playing. We were doing well. We were winning. We played the first half of the game and we came back to the second half at a comfortable lead. By the fourth quarter, we were so far ahead, coach started putting the bench in to play. There was seven of us. One girl got put in. Another girl went in. And another, and another. Four of the bench were put in the game. Then the fifth girl. And now there were two girls left on the bench who didn’t have any play time. I looked up at the clock. There were three minutes left. The girl next to me got put in the game. Two minutes left to play. One minute and thirty seconds left to play. I was still sitting on the bench. My eyes got really wet. I swallowed hard. My eyes were blurred. I’m not going to play this first game. That was okay. I think I’m okay. But I wasn’t okay. I was sitting at the end of the bench with tears dripping down my face, watching my dream shatter. Suddenly, there was thirty seconds on the clock. Coach called me to go in. Thirty seconds on the clock!!! That was how good I was? I choked back the tears and trotted out to the court. I was so emotional, I didn’t know what I was doing out there. But I only had less than thirty seconds. How bad could I screw it up?

My dream died that day. The next day after the game, my mom, who didn’t know a thing about basketball, took me to the local court to practice layups. Apparently, despite my height, my layups weren’t very good.

The facts surrounding my basketball playing seemed to paint a picture of me not being a very good basketball player. The coach waited until there were thirty seconds in the game to put me in. My mom felt she needed to help me in my layups. I still didn’t know what offense or defense was. I’m not a very good basketball player. The most painful part of that realization, was sitting there on the bench, feeling rejected by the coach. Being the last one on the bench to be put in the game. The coach waiting for the last thirty seconds before he would put me in. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the coach to pick me.

That whole story reminds me of God. I never had to sit on the bench and wait for Him. He did the work on the cross and waited with His arms open wide for me to accept Him as my Savior. I never had to be good enough. I never had to be perfect or good. He wanted me just as I was. He loved me just as I was. He accepted me just as I was. God loved me and I never had to prove anything to Him. He did the work. That is what I love about my faith. It was never anything I had to do. It was all God, always God. How amazing is that?

P.S. I didn’t always stink as a basketball player. The following year, I led our team to mostly wins as a starting five center. I went through high school playing basketball and played two years for my college team. So I didn’t stink all the time. I just had to learn the game. And I had to learn that basketball wasn’t everything. (I learned that lesson first thing).