Learning the Plays

 

Readings 110625

Riding past the high school football stadium my grandson—seventh grade, full of hope—looked out the window and said, “In a couple of years I’ll be playing there.”

It was a simple sentence, but it carried the weight of a dream. A dream made of shoulder pads and Friday night lights.

His mom, ever the gentle truth-teller, asked, “You think you’ll still want to play when you get to high school?”

“Yes,” he said.

She paused, then offered a loving challenge: “You play like you’re scared. You can’t be scared if you want to keep playing football.”

He didn’t flinch. “I’m not scared,” he said. “But I’m third string. They don’t really teach us the plays.”

Ah. There it was.

Not fear. Not laziness. Not lack of heart.

Just uncertainty.

Just a boy who hadn’t been taught the plays.

I’ve been thinking about that moment ever since. About how many of us are walking through life like third-string players—eager, willing, full of potential—but unsure of the plays. We show up. We suit up. But we hesitate, not because we’re afraid, but because we haven’t been shown how to move with confidence.

And sometimes, instead of teaching the plays, we critique the performance.

But Scripture reminds us:

“None of us lives for oneself, and no one dies for oneself.
For if we live, we live for the Lord, and if we die, we die for the Lord; so then, whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s.”

We belong. Even when we’re uncertain. Even when we’re third string.

And heaven rejoices—not over the polished performance of the ninety-nine who know the plays—but over the one who turns back, who asks for help, who dares to say, “I want to play, but I don’t know how.”

So maybe today, we pause before we critique. Maybe we ask: Who around me is still learning the plays? Who needs a little coaching, a little grace?

Because the field is wide. The team is big. And the Lord is not looking for stars—He’s looking for hearts.

Prayer: “For Those Still Learning”

Lord Jesus,,
You know the quiet ones 

 the ones who linger at the edge,
not because they lack heart,
but because they haven’t been shown the way—

Bless the ones who wait,
who watch,
who wonder if they’ll ever be invited in.

Send mentors who kneel, not critique—
who point with grace,
who speak with warmth,
who teach with patience.

Let Your Church be that kind of place.
Let us gather with humility,
reach with mercy,
and rejoice in every soul that dares to say,
“I want to grow. Show me how.”

Amen.