faith, hope, and possibility

I know, I know... I left out "the greatest" item of what would normally complete that list in the title. But right now, that's not what God has put in front of me. What he has put in front of me is faith, hope, and what faith and hope together make possible. So put your theologically argumentative bows and arrows down for just a second.

Let me start with a story. I love this story. It's a great story. And not just great because it makes me look good. It's great because finally, today, I understand how it is a picture of God in me... and really, how it's a just picture of God, plain and simple.

Rewind to my high school days, sophomore year. I'm a gangly, just starting to hit my growth spurt, super skinny, somewhat emotional, super intense sophomore. I'm at basketball practice. I'm the only sophomore who practices and plays with the varsity team. And they don't really like that I'm on the team and getting playing time in front of some of their buddies.

Mind you, the only reason that I made that team and got playing time was because I could play defense. I was too small and not yet mature enough to really contribute a lot on the offensive end, besides the occasional slash to the hoop because of my quickness. But I could defend, at least well enough to back up our primary defensive stopper when he needed a breather.

So we're in practice in the cold gym early one morning. The starting team is running an offensive set. The bench is defending. We're going full strength. And I get the task of guarding the point guard.

The offensive set calls for the center to run from the block up to the top of the key and screen for the point guard. I know it's coming. And yet, I'm aware that the point guard might anticipate me knowing that it's coming, fake like he's going to run the play as called, and then go the other way, straight down the lane for an easy layup, thus making me look like a fool.

Long, detailed story, right? Well, we're not even halfway.

So being the super-intense-wanting-to-prove-that-I-had-a-rightful-spot-on-this-team type of 15 year old kid that I was, I'm on edge, wanting desperately to stay with the point guard regardless of which way he goes. I can't overcommit towards the screen, because he'll go the other way. And yet, if I don't anticipate it at all, I'm going to get screened, he's going to go in for the layup, I'm going to get yelled at by my coach, and all of the older guys are going to smirk at me, the kid who they don't think should even be on the same floor as them in the first place.

The coach gives the ball to the point guard. I get down in my defensive stance. The point guard calls the play. I can see that the center is coming up to screen out of my peripheral vision, but I'm still focused on what the point guard is going to do. What does he do? He ball fakes towards the screen, then jab steps towards the other way, as though he wasn't going to use the screen and go right down the middle of the lane. I jump quickly to stop him, only to realize that he is actually going to use the screen, and that his jab step was simply another fake.

Now he's got me right where he wants me. I desperately try to catch up with him, but I'm already a step behind. And then whaddya know:

Wham! I slam into our senior star center who outweighs me by about 50 lbs. and get knocked to the floor by a completely legal screen. I pick my head up off the floor just in time to see the point guard glide into the lane for an uncontested layup.

I get up. The coach barks a little, and then tells the starters to run the play again.

I'm embarassed, disappointed in myself, shaking my head, and then head back to my position at the top of the key to try and defend this play once again. But I'm scared, really, of it happening again. Of not being able to defend this play. Of not having the ability that I need. Of not measuring up. Of it finally coming out that I really don't belong, that I really can't cut it.

Seriously. That dramatic. Right there in that moment. Told you that I was this emotional, intense teenage kid.

So the point guard saunters back to the top of the key, ball in hand, ready to start it again. And he's got that smirk on his face--the one that I knew was going to show up if I messed up. The smirk that said way more than words could ever say.

But he didn't leave it there. He decided to say something. And he said it so softly that only I could hear it. And he directed it to me with this arrogant, knowing smile on his face:

"You'll get used to that."

You'll get used to that. Here I am, years later, and I can still remember him saying that.

And I can also remember what welled up inside of me.

Honestly, it surprised me, because it wasn't fear. It wasn't worry. It wasn't defeatedness. It wasn't intimidation.

In fact, it was exactly the opposite. His statement had the exact opposite effect on me. His statement drove out my fear. His statement killed my worry. His statement caused me to let go of my defeatedness. And his statement pushed every last shred of intimidation out of every corner of my mind.

The only thing that was left was something that I can describe only as pure abandonment. Come hell or high water, this guy was never, ever, ever going to get around me ever again. I didn't care if Shaquille O'Neal himself was the guy coming up and setting the screen. I was utterly abandoned to stopping him from getting anywhere he wanted to go.

And I believed that I could do it. In fact, I knew that I would do it. One way or the other. Legally or illegally. Athletically or forcefully. He was not going to get to the basket, and I would be the reason why. If I had to jump on this guy's back and punch him in the face repeatedly before he was able to get to the basket--even if that resulted in a royal beatdown by him and the rest of the entire team--then so be it. Either way, that ball was not going to get in the hoop.

For that moment, it was like there wasn't even another option.

And that gave me this weird sense of peace and calmness. Right there in that moment. I wasn't on edge anymore. I wasn't trying to guess where he was going to go, what he was going to do, or imagine what would happen if I didn't anticipate correctly.

And I wasn't worried anymore about how the other guys would respond. I came to grips with the fact that they had made their decision about me, and I stopped caring. If it was my lot to stick it to them the rest of the season and endure their scorn, then so be it. If it was going to be me against them, fine. I was not going to lose. And they lost the ability to win. Right then.

Pure abandonment. All wrapped up in that moment. Because:

I had decided that I would never, ever, ever "get used to it." He couldn't make me, nor could anyone else.

And I decided that "getting used to it" was far, far worse than anything he or anyone else could ever do to me. Way more would be lost if I "got used to it" than if I refused to "get used to it" and paid the price for doing so.

And for a long, long time, I chalked that characteristic up to wiring, or personality, or blood, or whatever. It was in me for some reason, and that circumstance unlocked it. But after tonight, I see it differently.

I see God in me at that moment.

Nothing is impossible with God. Meaning: God decides what is possible, and no one else. God does not respect anyone else or anything else when it comes to the realm of possibility. He decides.

And we either accept that and choose to live by that, or we do not.

And yes, it really is that simple.

We choose to live in that by faith, and our faith is rewarded with hope. Hope comes when we see God reward our faith in him by pursing him determinedly through seemingly impossible circumstances, and then we see him deliver, or overcome, or win.

I've seen him do it too many times now to ever accept any other axiom other than with God, everything is possible.

Sometimes my lack of faith limits me. Sometimes I lose hope, if only for a time.

But I am starting to accept that my imagination can not even come close to fathoming not only what God can do but what God wants to do in us and among us and through us.

And I am becoming abandoned to it. It's almost like I can not even allow myself to consider another option. It's like it can't turn out any other way.

We so easily "get used to it" when it comes to what God can do and desires to do amongst us. In fact, it even seems like it's the "responsible" and "rational" thing to do. Some dreams are off limits, some changes will just never happen, some courses of action or paths are simply forever off the table of consideration.

Well, if God can raise a man from the dead... you fill in the blank.

And if God is raising you from the dead... you fill in the blank.

And because God is in the business of raising everything and everyone from death and redeeming and restoring and healing and glorifying everything and everyone he comes into contact with all the time everywhere... then why the hell would we expect or settle for anything less or anything different?

Why not abandon ourselves to that and only that happening?

Why not endure all hardship and setbacks knowing that this and only this can happen for us right where we are?

Friends:

Let us live by faith so that we can be fueled by the hope that will grow as we see that with God, everything--everything--is possible.

P.S.

I fought through that screen the second time, stayed with that point guard, blocked his attempt at a layup, and shoved him into the wall for good measure. Still makes my heart skip a beat just thinking about it.