To say that I have occasionally messed up or made poor decisions is an understatement. As I think about all the mistakes or bonehead moves I have made, I am humbled and constantly reminded that I am not perfect. There was that time where the snow bank blew up as a result of throwing dry […]
7th grade rolled around, and it was time to tryout for the school team. I made it past the cut and the second cut. There were 18 of us left to fill 16 spots, and well . . . I was one of the last two cut. It was heartbreaking, but I dusted off my wounds and worked harder. I tried out for the 8th grade team the following year, and guess what? I got cut again . . . one of the last ones. The hard work continued, and I gave it a couple more shots early in my high school career, and, each time . . . cut . . . at the end.
The pain was too much, and I couldn't bear the thought of another year of hard work only to be rejected again. So, when it came time to try out for the Varsity Team my senior year, I gave up. I quit.
Then it happened. In a moment of weakness and stress, I found a Coke and failed my annual challenge once again. I was really frustrated. This was supposed to be the year that I finally got it right, the one Lent that I could finally prove to God and to myself that I could do it. I spent a day or two so frustrated that I couldn't bring myself to pray. I couldn't face the God who suffered and died for me when I couldn't give up a freaking soft drink.