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 One 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,
neat-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 quite
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 it to the
referee and
then he cried.
He just stood there while huge tears rolled down
both
cheeks.
He went to his knees and put 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 onto 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,
"Child, 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."
"Be still and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10
Remember this story when you start to get discouraged in the
daily
struggles. May God pull you into His lap today and encourage
your heart.
Author unknown
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.