Hello friends! This blog is the outcome of conversations with my squad, and some thoughts swirling around in my head. In this season of “almost there but not quite yet,” the Lord has been tenderly blunt in asking me not to slow down or hold back. I know that at the end of the race, it’s easy to become sluggish. So, this blog is my encouragement to those near the end of their “race” or a really a good season and advice I have been giving myself… enjoy! 🙂
At the very end of my last high school rugby game, I was a mess. I remember my coach telling me to stop crying, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t the fact that we had lost that made me emotional, but that after all that time, it was over. It was the end of an era. It was the end of a season that I had poured every ounce of myself into. The future was still foggy and now I had to say goodbye to what was familiar and so good to me. I loved my team hard. I fought for them, and for the game that I love.
That year was quite possibly the most exhausting season of rugby I had ever played. Getting teammates to show up at practice was a battle, and we lost multiple games that we should have won, due to our lack of cohesiveness. The tournaments that my team typically played well in, ended with our heads hung low and a participation prize in hand. My coach was pushing me (in the best ways) and I was emotionally spent from the investment and responsibility I carried for my team.
When I reflect back, I know I did the best with what I had and gave it my all, regardless of the set backs and hardships. The end was painful solely because it was so incredibly challenging, sweet and growing. Even though our end of season loss hurt, I was glad that I had chosen to love hard and stick with it instead of give up when it got difficult. I wanted to thrive as a player, a teammate and a captain even if that meant laying myself out there. I tried. Sometimes I failed, but I tried.
It’s scary to step into seasons that you see the ending to… It’s scary to be asked to put your all into something that has an expiration date. Everything will end inevitably, but when you can actually see the ending, it’s easy to decide to blend in, and get by instead of using the precious time you have left. It’s easy to disassociate yourself from the people around you and the situation at hand, because it’s too risky to put yourself out there. I get it… I’ve been there.
In Brene Brown’s book, Daring Greatly, she talks about this quote by Theodore Roosevelt called “The Man in the Arena”. It says,
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
The arena is everywhere around us… The arena is the place and decision to walk out for everyone to see, and risk defeat. It’s the place where we are vulnerable, hold out our hearts for somebody to hold, and trust that they will love us, regardless. It’s the places where we see the end, and the spots where we can fudge numbers, cut corners and skid by in order to guard ourselves, but we choose not to. You can certainly go your whole life letting people in so far. You can choose to only show others the clean cut parts of your soul, however, you will never truly understand the joy of what it feels like to be nakedly raw, deeply vulnerable and yet, chosen in spite of your messiness.
At the end of my World Race, I became afraid. I was afraid of change and all the goodbyes I had to say. I decided that intentionality was too painful, and my walled-in heart was safer farther away from people. I watched movies instead of having conversations and robbed myself of seeing other’s humanity by concealing my own. In the end, it still hurt, but I had already cozied myself up to apathy, and lost the ability to feel it.
Sometimes I don’t want to step into this arena of vulnerability and emotion… it’s exhausting. Sometimes it feels safer to write off myself or others as too much work. However, I remember that Jesus didn’t die on the cross just for the 12 disciples that were by his side day and night. Jesus died for everyone… He died for the people alive back then and today… He died for the people that opposed him, and called him a liar… He died for the people that beat him, flogged him, and nailed his body to a cross. In fact, he interceded for them (Luke 23:34). Jesus healed people that never gave him a “thank you”. He defended and wept for humans he hardly knew. If Jesus’ love is unconditional, that means we are also called to love without boarders.
In rugby, the second half is the one that matters. You can absolutely dominate in the beginning, and still lose if you let exhaustion get to you or work as an individual instead of a team. If you let fear get in the way of the game, all your work will be meaningless. It’s that last half where you really see you and your team’s character, integrity and grit to succeed. Because, in the very end, if you’re not hurting, you didn’t push hard enough. If you aren’t in pain, you didn’t leave it out on the pitch.
This life is such a gift… Are you satisfied with all that you have given?
