At our school, it was pretty much understood that we needed to mind our manners during a game. After all, we wanted to be good witnesses to the teams we were playing. We liked to pretend there was no "trash talk" going on on the field and if there was, surely it wasn't our sons talkin' it. And I'm sure it was my imagination the few times that I saw the coach's head about to explode as one of the players hadn't done whatever the player was supposed to have done. How awkward was that when the stands got quiet and that's all you heard, a screaming adult in the face of a kid. I'm glad it wasn't my kid who was the recipient of that or I would have had to climb over bodies and march myself right onto that field and stop that foolishness. No one yells at my kid 'cept me. But overall, the players, coaches and even us parents were all pretty controlled and minded our p's and q's.
But the other night, I ventured into new territory. Wyatt is playing basketball with UPWORDS, and might I add he's really good, so I thought it would be fun to take him to a high school game. A friend of ours is a star player for a local school so I knew Wyatt would enjoy watching him. Wyatt was a little confused as to why he couldn't go down on the court with Isaiah because after all, when his uncles played at SACS, he was the star nephew and always got to hang around on the field. Sorry Wyatt.
 |
| Wyatt and Uncle Will |
But as the game began, so did the excitement. I could hardly watch the game because of the whole new sporting event in the stands. Fans yelling at fans, parents yelling at the players and oh my word, the poor guys that wear the black and white stripes, who wants that job anyway????? And can I make a suggestion? Could we possibly separate the fans? It would have been a whole lot less stressful if the fans could sit on opposite sides of the gym, not 2 feet away from each other. Me, being a peacemaker and an avoider of all awkward situations, almost had a heart attack sitting in the midst of opposing moms yelling at each other. I would look at one screaming mom and smile and then look at a different screaming mom and smile, all the while afraid for my life. I eventually stopped making eye contact. I can relate because we are all so passionate about our sports and our kids, but really? I kept slinking lower and lower into my bleacher in case a riot erupted and I would have to squeeze through the bleacher seats with Wyatt to escape death. And to repeat myself, who in the world would ever decide one day that they wanted to grow up to be a referee? Who wants to get yelled out and have their eyesight and credentials questioned? Who? In my mind, you never argue with the referee, what he says goes. I saw different extremes during the game as far as the ref went. Some kids totally ignored him and got in his face while others had utmost respect for him and his position and authority. The fans did the same. As I watched one young man getting called down by the ref, he immediately stopped what he was doing and gave the ref his total respect and attention, I took notice of him and how he and the ref interacted. But then I also saw the opposite and wondered why the ref just didn't make that gesture where he crosses his arms and yells, "Youuuu are oooout ooooof here". (that's supposed to be really long and drawn out, get it?)
So here was my take away from that night. My first silly thought was does God wear a black and white shirt? Probably not. My other thoughts were do I show total respect for Him and follow what He says or do I get in His face and argue my brains out with Him, trying to convince Him my way is better than His? Yelling and screaming and kicking my feet, thinking that I know better, questioning His eyesight. Am I like the young man who heard the referee blow his whistle and stopped and listened with utmost respect or like the masses working themselves up into a frenzy, wanting the game to be played their way? Unfortunately, too many times I am probably, no not probably, I am the second, wanting my game to go my way, not the way of the perfect Authority who knows best, the author and perfecter of my faith.
I am so thankful that my Heavenly Father never puts his black and white referee shirt on, waves His arms in front of Him and yells, "Cathy, You are out of here". Instead, I know that nothing will be able to separate me from His love. Even when I want the game to go according to my own plans.
Being ever so thankful, keep giggling, its great medicine.
Cathy
