Finish the play

I love sports movies.

Which is a good thing because sometimes my LIFE feels like a sports movie. (Okay, it’s more of a reality show. I was told by a young coworker one time, “Lindsey, if your life was a reality show, I would totally watch it.” I would too. It’s awfully entertaining around here.)

This is also a good thing because my husband SPEAKS in sports movies. I remember one of the first times I was going to hear him preach, he was trying to hurry me up. “Come on, babe! The band is out on the field! We gotta go!”

I saw a couple sports movies as a kid and I was too young to ‘get it.’ Then again, Caddyshack and Necessary Roughness may not have been the most powerful or inspiring of examples.

But now, I’m crazy about sports movies.

And I’m no athlete. That’s the weirdest part. It doesn’t connect with me on some deep experiential level. Beau, on the other hand, is one of the most athletic people I’ve ever met and he doesn’t like sports movies. So weird.

But I think what I love the most about sports movies is how many lessons from the game apply to regular people like me. (“It’s a metaphor.” “I KNOW it’s a metaphor.”)

And it still comes out in my life.

All three of my kids are athletes. (Of COURSE, they are. They get it from their dads, to be sure.) And rarely does a sporting event go by without me seeing a powerful picture on a different level than the playing field.

We have lots of big feelings in this family. And those feelings crash into each other from time to time. Caroline is a big feeler (THAT she got from ME) so I started teaching her at a young age to not suppress them, not ignore them, but manage them, instead of letting them manage her.

I remember years ago we were out to dinner one time with Brad’s extended family. One of the other kids had hurt Caroline’s feelings with something they said and she came to me for justice. I wanted to validate her feelings without blowing up everybody’s evening, so I came up with something she could understand.

“I’m sorry that happened, kiddo. That is absolutely not okay and we’re definitely going to deal with it. But if we try to do it now, we’ll ruin everyone’s dinner.”

She sighed disappointedly, “So you want me to just ‘get over it’?”

I shook my head emphatically. “Nope. Not at all. I want you to push PAUSE on those feelings. You know how you push PAUSE on the DVD player when you have to go do something then you come back later and push PLAY again. It’s kind of like that. I want everyone, including you and me, to enjoy our dinner and enjoy being together. So let’s just push PAUSE on that situation, and when we get home later, we’ll pushing PLAY and work it out. Does that make sense?”

It absolutely did. She knew I meant what I said about coming back to it and looked like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She didn’t have to stay upset through the rest of the evening until she got home and could work on it. She could push PAUSE on the negative stuff and go back to having fun, with full confidence that we would circle back and work it out.

But it wasn’t until years later when I saw her do it in the heat of a critical moment, without my prompting, that I realized what an important lesson she learned.

CJ’s quite a little athlete herself. I had her in ballet, just because that’s what I did growing up. Then she was a hybrid softball player and ballerina for a couple seasons. She was a good dancer, but it didn’t make her happy. I’m her mother. I could tell. But when she was on the softball field, she just sparkled. And as a mom, you live for those moments when your kids’ eyes light up because they’re doing something they love. Decision made.

Three or four seasons later, I was watching her play short stop out in Casselberry. The girl at bat hit a strong grounder right toward Caroline. It took one rogue bounce and hit her right in the jaw. And it really hurt.

But as I’m scrambling down the bleachers, I saw something amazing. My daughter quickly shook herself out of the shock of the blow, picked up the ball and fired it over to first (a little too hard) getting the batter out.

She finished the play.

Our team’s stands erupted in cheers, the coach and umpire jogged out to where she was standing and I pressed myself against the fence, waiting for the signal from the coach. I could tell she was crying and holding her face. The coach looked at me across the field and held his hand up. “Wait,” he was telling me. “Just stay put.”

There was some nodding from Caroline as she swiped at her tears. (There may no crying in baseball, but there are PLENTY of tears in little girls’ softball.) The coach pressed. She nodded again and stood up straight. The ump walked back to home plate. The coach gave me the OK sign, patted her on the back and went back to his post. I watched her take a couple of deep breaths and reassure her nearest teammates that she was okay.

And the game went on.

I went back to my seat, marveling at what I just saw. Most little girls would have gotten hit with the ball and that’s it, she would have been done. Not just for the play. Probably for the whole game. But Caroline, at age 9, pushed PAUSE on her feelings and finished the play. She took a minute to get herself together (also very proud of her for letting herself cry), but not until she had done her job.

I’m sorry but, damn.

After the game, it wasn’t her two great hits I focused on. Nor was it her great fielding. It was the way she handled that (mini) crisis like a boss. She didn’t act like she was fine when she wasn’t. She took her minute to feel the pain and decide if she could keep playing.

But not before she finished the play.

The moment was bigger than her pain. The team was bigger than her pain. The game was bigger than her pain. She knew she could come back to the pain, but the runner was making a mad dash to first base and Caroline had to get the ball before she did.

From start to finish, she handled the whole thing like a champ.

Suppressed emotions have been blamed for all manner of mental health issues, personality disorders, heart problems, even cancer. Emotions are meant to be felt and dealt with, whatever that looks like.

And yet, healthy people know that sometimes the moment is bigger than they are.

Soldiers know this. They don’t have time to stop and grieve in the middle of a battle.

Parents know this. Sometimes you have to put on a brave face during a crisis.

Doctors and nurses know this. People may move quickly, orders are barked, but nobody loses it because if they stop and let their feelings take over, somebody could die.

Most people have control over their emotions. Anybody can repress their feelings. (If not, we’d see a lot more moms getting Baker Acted at Target.)

But the key is going back for them. When the dust settles, when the adrenaline slows, when everybody’s safe, we must go back and push PLAY on our feelings. And every time we don’t, another little piece of our soul dies.

This world needs wholehearted, fully-functioning people to bring the Kingdom. Jesus tells us repeatedly to love our God with our heart, soul, mind and strength. That’s our whole being. The kicker is getting them in the right order, based on the situation.

And sometimes you just gotta finish the play.