Gym Class and a Pulpit

 In fourth grade I owned a pair of sneakers. These sneakers were a cross between Punky Brewster and Converse All Stars. They were also minted by Beverly Hills 90210. I was in a new school, in a new city, and feeling more and more insecure in myself with every passing gym day- insecurity mounting as I was daily being picked last for kickball. 

We all know this story. We’ve all been the last one chosen, left to stand, pitifully, while the team leader concedes to have us on his team. If we have not experienced this first-hand, we have seen it in a dozen movies. Because it is true to life: in fourth grade gym class, and so much more. 

I used to cry- used to being operative terms as I still cry- a lot. As a 9-year-old, I learned that I could cry at the start of gym class, insist to the teacher that my parents will be mad at me if I ruin my new shoes, and be rewarded for this lie with a two-tone Smarties lollipop and the ability to sit off to the side and watch someone else be the last to be chosen. 

I did this week after week. I am no fool. 

Tears are something like a counterpart of mine, always there, waiting to make their appearance. In some ways, they can be very therapeutic and cleansing, but I have asked the Lord more than once to please take them away, as they can also impose themselves upon me, demanding to be known. Yesterday was a day of tears. I cried because I felt discouraged. There are so many opportunities I would like to embrace, so many possibilities I see, and I dream up, and I want them all. It is a fool’s request, maybe, but, as I noted, I am no fool. 

Yesterday I spoke with a friend. She and I both do ministry, only she has been in this game longer and is truly America’s Sweetheart. I did a lot of research, invested time and came up with a *ahem* awesome proposal for our church. The proposal was sent over a week ago and I knew that our head pastor, my friend, and others in leadership, were all sitting down to discuss where this might lead. Optimism abounded when I sent the email. Optimism waned when I got some feedback. It is’t that our church does not like my proposal, or that it won’t happen in time, but for the here and now, they decided to try something a little off brand. A mock proposal…just to see how it lands. 

I began to cry. The truth is that this is my fourth attempt to propose something for our church- really great ideas- and every one has received a “no”, “not now”, “we don’t do it like that”. Every. Single. One. The tears began and my voice wavered over the phone. I like my friend, but it has been feeling personal, all this rejection. So, I chose to take myself out. 

There is no guarantee that this most recent proposal will have any flight in it, and I was honest yesterday when I told my friend that I wasn’t sure I had the heart for this spin-off she was suggesting. My heart, perhaps selfishly, was in a certain direction, and this alternative was leaving me hanging. My heart is to be a good steward, to be a willing participant in ministry and service, but I could not pretend that my heart wasn’t feeling a little crushed, as well. 

Pastor Kent spoke about being the last one chosen at his school, too. It was either he or skinny Susie. It was uncanny, his story, as I was just telling Big Strong Man about my experience with kickball earlier this week, literally having no idea that a similar experience would be spoken from the pulpit. The randomness of it all drew me to write this out, this time, however, it does not escape me that I am not sitting because of lies and insecurities, I am sitting out as I wait on the Lord for guidance.

Although I have wavered between heading up this alternative plan and forgoing anything about it at all, I truly haven’t felt God’s prompting one way or another. What I do know is that I value friendship over making a point and doing ministry well over doing it my way. 

I wish I could encourage fourth grade me. I would tell her that -contrary to popular belief- no one wins life because they were chosen first in kickball. I would remind her that being picked last, although stinky, is a part of life. And I would encourage her to make the most of this, to look for the other kiddos who are insecure (like skinny Susie and little Kent), and to play her best. I would also tell her that her shoes are awesome and that one day she will have the advantage, because trials help shape us into motivated people. 

I’m not sure how this isn’t already blazingly obvious, but teachers everywhere should realize that the favor is not always equally stacked, and that the impressions felt will last longer than the fleeting win of the game. 

It is important to me to do life right. That is, to do it well. 

This looks different for us all, but I know I want to be true to myself and truer still to God. And so, I sit, waiting, not for gym class to be over, but for the Lord’s direction. And I can do this with as many Smarties lollipops as I chose!