Matt Emmons.
Twenty-three years old. Olympic competitor in 2004.
He had already won a gold medal in the 50-meter rifle prone event — even after someone had tampered with his gun and he had to borrow one from a teammate. The guy was steady. Skilled. Focused.
Two days later, he was positioned to win another gold in the 50-meter three-position event. Kneeling. Prone. Standing. By the time he lined up for his final shot, he was so far ahead that all he had to do was land it near the center.
He fired.
Perfect shot.
Only… it wasn’t his target.
He was in Lane 2.
He hit the target in Lane 3.
He dropped from first place to eighth.
Oh my. Can you even imagine?
I can’t get that story out of my mind. Not because he missed, but because he didn’t.
It’s been replaying in my head like those slow-motion Olympic crash moments we can’t turn away from.
It wasn’t a shaky hand.
It wasn’t a bad day.
He was just aiming at the wrong thing.
And that’s the part that makes me pause.
Because I can be very efficient … at things that don’t matter most.
I can absolutely nail something … and still miss what matters.
So I’ve been asking myself:
Is my life lined up with what I say I want most?
Am I in the right lane?
In my very non-Olympic world, I wonder:
Am I fixing my eyes on what’s broken — or what God is building?
Am I rehearsing old wounds — or inviting Him to heal them?
Am I carrying things He never asked me to carry?
What keeps us from the right target?
It’s rarely dramatic.
It’s usually distraction.
Or boredom.
Or fear.
Or just the slow drift of ordinary days.
It’s like those early ski days on the bunny hill — looking at the trees instead of where you want to go. Drifting in the wrong direction. And guess where you end up?
Drift doesn’t announce itself. It just quietly adjusts your direction one ordinary Tuesday at a time.
Sometimes no one pushes us into the wrong lane.
We just never intentionally step into the right one.
During this Lenten season, I’ve been re-reading Lisa Whittle’s book I Want God. One question keeps surfacing:
What do you really want?
My quick answer?
I want God.
That answer feels true deep down.
But my Tuesday habits don’t always agree.
If I say I want God — His presence, His shaping, His peace —
then why do my habits sometimes suggest I want comfort, snacks, and uninterrupted scrolling?
Apparently, it’s possible to want God … and also want to reorganize a junk drawer instead.
I don’t want to spend my life getting better and better at hitting the wrong target. So I’m checking my lane.
Lent feels like a gentle pause, doesn’t it? A chance to lift our heads, adjust our footing, and make sure we’re not accidentally competing in Lane 3.
I want to make sure that when I step into my lane on another ordinary Tuesday, my life is pointed toward what matters most.
Maybe that’s the quiet invitation for you, too.
Am I in the right lane?
