Around the eighth grade, my father began to teach me tennis. I loved athletics and high school was just around the corner. Basketball was a given as my father had been a basketball coach. Volleyball was fun and in the fall. That left the spring without a sport, so my father thought tennis would fill the void.

I fell in love with the sport immediately. However, that didn’t mean I was any good at it. In fact, my freshman year, I can remember hitting one good shot all season. I played mixed doubles, and we were playing at Roosevelt High School, and I had a backhand crosscourt approach shot. That was it –– for the entire year. My father put me in tennis lessons that summer.

The lessons paid off as I found myself in the #1 singles slot my sophomore year. The season started in February and all was going well. Then around mid March, the strings in my racket broke. I took my racket to my parents and asked to have it restrung. They said “no” and gave me another racket to use. This “new” racket was old and cheap, and I wanted nothing to do with it. After all, I was now #1 and awesome and thought I deserved a little respect. I did what any self-respecting fifteen-year-old would do. I pitched a fit. My parents were unmoved.

I had no choice but to play with the racket. I did have a choice, though, about my attitude, so I chose the best option––play the victimized martyr and keep complaining. For three weeks I took this tack and then I realized that my birthday was just around the corner.  Though I still grumbled a bit to show my discontent, I had resigned myself to the racket, so now it was now time to play the good child.

My birthday arrived. In fact, it was a surprise sixteenth birthday party with my entire tennis team. Lots of food, lots of fun, plenty of gifts. One gift I remember in particular. A long, rectangular box which held –– two brand new Billie Jean King rackets, strung to perfection. I was speechless.

My family was not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. I know because we ate liver and onions––a lot. So when I saw those two state of the art rackets, I knew they had required a bit of sacrifice to buy. To put it mildly, I felt stupid. My parents' “no” was simply because they had already purchased something far better than what I had wanted––what I thought I had to have to be happy.

That little scene comes back to haunt me every time I pull my fifteen-year-old attitude with God. When I stomp my foot and thrust out my lower lip because He has not given me something I want, and have to have, right now, when all the while He has something much better waiting for me.

The problem with demands is that we make them from an incomplete perspective. We absolutely believe that we know best what will make us happy and fulfilled, and that not getting that (item, person, job, etc) will conversely make us unhappy and unfulfilled.

I am sure, occasionally, God has given in to my childish, selfish tantrums and let me have what I wanted just to appease me, (or I have just bulldozed my will through the situation) and now I often look back and wonder what I had actually given up to have my own way. I will never know, but hopefully, I have learned that God’s gifts far surpass my demands. And at this Easter time, I am eternally thankful, that Jesus willingly submitted his will to his Father's so that I could have the greatest of gifts.

First published April 1, 2015

“The longest journey you will ever take is the 18 inches from your head to your heart.” Moikanos

I came across this quote the other day and it got me thinking, and the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with it. For instance, I have often found myself in total agreement with the following statements:
 



I need to exercise more often.
I should eat less and eat healthier.
I should be more patient, less selfish.
God is faithful and trustworthy.

     The problem is that often when I make these statements, they are only intellectual in nature, which means I agree with them, but I do not act on them. Somehow, that statement has to make the 18 inch journey from my head to my heart and only then will it be something I truly believe in. So though I know I need to exercise more often, not until I take it to heart will I actually act on it.

     This realization brought back an illustration I once heard that I think brings this truth to light. Perhaps many of you have also heard it.

     It is the story of Charles Blondin, the 1800s French tightrope walker who would perform various tightrope stunts, many across Niagara Falls. One particular time after performing a few different feats successfully, he then brought out a wheelbarrow and asked the crowd how many believed he could successfully cross Niagara Falls pushing the wheelbarrow. Either all or the vast majority raised their hands. He then asked for a volunteer to get into the wheelbarrow. Not one volunteered. Though all believed intellectually he could do it, none believed in their heart he could.

     Unfortunately, that is sometimes our view of God. We say we believe He is trustworthy, that we can trust Him with our lives, but in reality we aren’t willing to get in the wheelbarrow and give Him control. Why? There could be many reasons, but here are a couple I have had to work through. First, many of us really don’t want to leave this side of the falls. We like the life we have and even though we say we believe Him when He says He has an even better, more fulfilling life on the other side (and I’m not talking Heaven, just life here on earth), we say no. Second, we don’t trust Him to hold onto us as we cross some great chasms and fearful moments on this journey.

     To say we accept Jesus as our Lord and savior is one thing, to mean it means we are willing to get into the wheelbarrow, to give Him control of our lives. That’s step one. Then, as most of us have realized, throughout our lives, on our daily walk with Him, we have to choose again and again in various areas of our lives to willingly get into the wheelbarrow. We finally surrender one area of our lives after we have mucked it up enough times only to watch Him make something beautiful out of the mess. Yet we balk at giving Him control over the next area because we seem to be managing it okay for the moment. Our memories are short . . . both on His faithfulness and goodness, and on our ability to screw things up.

     A lot of us say we believe in many things: selflessness, generosity, commitment, God . . . but I would hazard to guess that in reality that list is much smaller than we think, for somewhere in that eighteen-inch journey, probably right about where our mouth is, that belief gets stuck right in the back of our throat.

First published June 30, 2015