Game On

I love basketball. HUGE Celtics fan. Mika asked me a trivia question the other day that started with "Who stole the ball..." and before he even went on I screamed "JOHNNY HAVILECEK!!" He was confused and amazed. I felt proud. Some things you just know. You just know that Havilecek stole the ball in 1965 and put the Celtics into the playoffs. You just know that Johnny Most's gravelly voice made that play infamous in history.


Or maybe you don't know that. Maybe you had absolutely no clue. Do you ever step outside yourself sometimes and really look at your life? I find it remarkable how many situations we are thrown into that we really have no clue about. The ones where we just know what to do feel really good. They feel comfortable and familiar. For me, spending time with my husband is like that. It comes naturally, it's easy, and it's enjoyable. But other aspects of relationships? They're like asking a non-sports fan who John Havilecek is. You just don't get it.

So what do we do about that? We learn. Take parenting, for example. How do we figure THAT out? We just learn as we go. We ask people who seem to have a good idea of what's going on; we may read a few books; take a few classes. We try to figure out these complex little people that God has thrown onto our team, and in the process, we learn a whole lot about the game.

Anyone who has ever been involved in organized sports knows how much work goes into it. The parallel with relationships is obvious. Parenting, friendship, family ties... whatever the case- they all require work. They require you to commit a part of yourself with the goal of forming something successful, something rewarding, something winning. In the process, you work hard to better yourself. Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose.

The losing part is hard, because you wonder why you bothered to invest all that time and energy into something only to fall short. But in the case of parenting, your teammates are still there and they are still depending on you to do more than just back them up.



So you renegotiate your strategy. You redraw your plays. And you get back on the court. And on a really good day, everything falls into place. You steal the ball, score the winning basket, and throw your team into a championship series. But on a bad day, you are the guy who had the ball stolen from you. And you stare blankly at the scoreboard wondering where you went wrong. When no one is looking, you may even cry over your blunder.



At the end of the day, you know you will get back on the court because not only do you love the game that much, but you love your team as well. So here's to Havilecek, the Celtics, and the five children and one man who all make my game worth playing.