Feeling the tiny raised dots under my fingers.
Hearing the sharp ping as the rubber hits the floor.
The constant, high-paced squeaking of rubber soled sneakers.
The occasional (sometimes all TOO occasional) sharp, piercing whistle echoing off every wall.
The tension filled silence that surrounds a one point moment.
Feeling the rush of an adrenaline so heightened I think I might just burst.
Being the best and hearing Dad's words in my head -
Always be humble and honest, no matter how well you succeed. And if you don't succeed, that's okay too, as long as you give it your all. There will always be someone better than you. Don't let that keep you from being the best you can be.Being the worst and hearing those same words.
The noise of a crowd cheering.
The satisfaction of giving 200%, my best, my all.
Dripping with sweat and not caring.
The feeling of unity.
JP has been filling in leading worship at the church of a friend. They meet in a youth building in a small town. This past Sunday as I was sitting in my seat I looked around, and spotted a lonely basketball sitting in the corner. It looked like a good ball, and for just a second, I had the thought that I really just couldn't wait to get my hands on it. Then in the 3 seconds that followed, all of the above thoughts and memories came flooding into my mind. It's amazing the depth of memory that can be brought to the forefront with one solitary object. It's also amazing how drastically our lives can change. I haven't played in a competitive game since my senior year of college almost TEN (WHAT?) years ago. And when I say competitive I mean able to run up and down the court for an extended amount of time without the need of an oxygen mask. But it's okay. Basketball gave me so much, and I know my life would have been very different without it. Now I look forward to being the mom on the sidelines whose kid blushes furiously and tries not to look at me while I hoop and holler. Hah! My poor kids.