the storm. {part 2}

continued

Emotions seem to catch me by surprise.

No matter what I hope for, or anticipate, or even prepare for can keep me from shaking my head at the end of most days.

Today was one of those days.

I had made a mental map of what I thought would happen … what I thought should happen.
I had set some expectations of the people I care most about without even realizing it.
I wanted to be the point guard … maneuvering my way through each and every conversation, meal, spill, battle, choice, and discussion of the day … with a slam dunk and a victory at the end.

Day well done.

That’s what I wanted.

Funny thing is, every time I set expectations of the who, what, when, where and how in my world, I’m suddenly watching my day happen from the sidelines on a hard, cold bench … alone.

Everything I’d been doing and learning at practice had been forgotten.

The Coach’s voice was muffled by the roaring crowd and my own self-talk.

Expectations do that.

They muffle and hide and even distort the Voice you’re supposed to be listening to.

I expected some help.
I expected respect.
I expected some thanks.
I expected, I expected, I expected.

But when I tried to manipulate, and control, and weigh in with my opinion on every little thing, I suddenly slipped from being the player with the best shot, the best defense, the best ball control, the best free-throw percentage … to a bench warmer.

All the things I had been doing to prepare for the “game" ... gone.

I had practiced and practiced and practiced.
I had spent hours shooting free-throws.
I had read play books and spent time each day talking to and listening to the Coach.

And then the game began.

And I forgot everything.

I forgot that I was part of a team.
I forgot that I actually had to maneuver my way around live human beings with real feelings and emotions instead of a cone.

I only saw myself.

………………………..

Storms often, but not always, hit us by surprise.

Games begin with the blow of a whistle and the tip of a ball.

And suddenly, you’re standing at the top of the key … or on edge of a storm, and you realize you have a choice to make – probably even more than just one.

A choice to drive hard and fast toward the basket, knocking down (and possibly injuring) those that have found themselves in your path … which could even be some of your own teammates.

A choice to put a play into motion, knowing you really have no control over what might happen next.

A choice to see the whole court and not just the basket.

A choice to listen for the Coaches voice … and really “hear” it.

A choice to remember and apply everything you’ve been practicing.

A choice to find cover as the clouds roll in.

A choice to grab hold of the glimpse of hope you see in your reflection and believe in it.

………………………….

Watching myself cry did something to me.

The mirror seemed to magically show me truth.

I saw my reflection …and the pathetic quiver my chin makes when I cry … but I also saw humbleness.

I saw brokenness, but I did not see failure.

I saw a member of a team that was trying to win the game that day on her own … but I also became a  member of a team that knew it was time to ask for a "time out."

…………………….

To be a part of a team you have to practice commitment.

Commitment to your teammates.
Not just expectations for your teammates.

Commitment to your Coach.
Not just at practice.

Commitment to your fans.
Not for the glory, but for the opportunity to share life and excitement and heart-stopping plays.

Bring on March Madness.
Bring on the storms.
Bring the rain.

I’ve got an umbrella, the best team in the world, a Coach with an amazing winning streak ... and the most loyal and faithful fans.

What more could I ask for?