I am not an athlete. As much as I would love to have the long legs, expansive arm reach, or muscle endurance that describes many who are proficient in a form of physical exercise, I am short with jiggly thighs and limited upper body strength.
But I’ve always loved sports. Watching them. From the benches. Or from the cheerleading sideline. Especially from the cheerleading sideline. (Of course, I’m going back to the days when cheerleaders did not need to do the splits or stand on one leg in the palm of someone’s hand six feet up in the air while smiling, trying not to look petrified of what could happen if the cheerleader holding your foot gets an arm cramp.)
Cheering, yes. Catching a ball in any sport, no thank you.
I did play on our high school girls’ basketball team though. (Many of the girls in our small school had to play so we’d have enough to form a team, you see.) Did I enjoy it? Not so much.
My time in the game was spent silently praying that my teammates wouldn’t throw me the ball. I wanted to be out there, moving around, anticipating the play, but please, please, please throw the ball to anybody but me.
You see, I was afraid I’d mess it all up. That I wouldn’t know what to do with the ball in my hands and my left foot firmly planted to the gym floor, pivoting like points were earned by how many times I’d swivel from the waist.
These basketball flashbacks don’t routinely pop up when I stroll down memory lane. But last week in an early morning conversation with God, I was telling Him about the people I know who are hurting. Discouraged. Sick. Friends and acquaintances who are feeling big doses of lethargy and listlessness. And I heard Him whisper, The ball’s in your court. A few hours later that whisper—that nudge—returned, clear as a referee’s whistle. The ball’s in your court.
The nudge took me back to the school gymnasium.
And this time, I understood the play call right away.
I knew what to do with the ball.
In this game, there isn’t time to avoid the pass. My participation doesn’t require long arms, strong legs, or an explosive jump shot. It’s my heart, compassion, and willingness to move the ball that will make the difference. There’s a need. I must show up. And do something.
You and I don’t have to look far to see the need. We see it and we feel the heavy hearts of those carrying it. Then a response is required. Isn’t it? Yes. It is.
Here’s what is so beautiful and amazing about our response … it requires very little. We don’t need to go back to school, learn a new skill, move to another city, take out a second mortgage, or quit our job. We simply need to ask God to open our eyes to the need we can meet. Then we show up. With our time and gifts and help. A kind word. A smile. Phone call. Gift card. Errands. Bagels. Kindness. Compassion.
I’m in this game.
The ball’s in my court.
The playbook is clear and I’m playing my position. One pivot, one catch, one pass at a time.
I want to be the reason someone else keeps going today.
The ball’s in your court.
The team needs you.
Let’s play.
