Lord, I praise you for
youth sports,
For the excitement of
getting that first uniform.
A t-shirt with his name
and a bright yellow, too big hat,
Too big for his head,
but not for rocks and flowers and already chewed gum.
Thank you for the joy
of finding that his friend is on the team.
Which means a mother
for me to talk to in the stands.
And thanks for the
smiles when the ball goes in the net, and I am watching,
Or the healthy snacks
that turn out to be a can of Coke and a Twinkie.
Lord, forgive me when I
grumble about Saturday morning games, and rain delays.
When I complain about
fields across town, and being two places at once.
When I groan at the
prospect of slicing a dozen oranges for halftime,
And sigh at the pile of
sweaty uniforms by the washer and the mud-caked cleats by the door.
Don’t let me forget
that image of him kneeling in the outfield, picking dandelions,
Or that ear-to-ear grin
when he received that first plastic trophy.
Etch on my heart
forever the sight of that big glove on the wrong hand,
And the high-pitched
sound of little ball players “chattering” in the field.
But, Lord, if it’s
possible, take away that picture of my son sitting on the bench,
Eager and bright,
waiting for the coach to call him into the game.
And later in the
contest, the same young man, slumped and defeated,
Still on the bench as
the buzzer sounds and the cheers go up.
Oh, wipe away his hurt
and my hurt, it wasn’t supposed to be this way.
These are just youth
sports, aren’t they? When did the rules change?
Help me to find the
words to convince him of his worth,
To encourage him, and
assure him, and love him.
And forgive me, Lord,
for my anger, product of a child’s broken heart.
For my envy and petty
jealousy, my bitterness and my spite.
Help me, in renewed
wholeness, to depend on You, the real coach,
The One who leads us to
victory in this difficult game of life. Amen.
Sue Busler
