How are you grieving?

It's temporary.

This is the third week of Lent. Did you fill out a bracket for March Madness?

Results from the question of the week - would you rather be:

The BEST player on the WORST team - 33%

or

The WORST player on the BEST team - 67%

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When I was in 8th grade, I attended tryouts for my school’s basketball team. I was taller than most of my classmates, had good stamina, and a good work ethic to hustle for the ball. I was, maybe, in 2nd grade the last time I played for an organized team. I lacked skill and the basketball IQ of the average 8th grader. I lacked confidence and had no strength. I had wire glasses and looked like a baby giraffe on the court.

Many of the drills were difficult for me. For one of the drills, the coach divided us into 3 separate lines on the baseline of the court - it was a “three man weave.” Whoever had the ball towards the end would do a layup. I couldn’t do a layup under that kind of pressure. I made sure that I was never the one that ended with the ball in my hands.

I forgot basic rules, I was afraid to dribble the ball, and I never took a shot. I didn’t want to miss. I didn’t want the coach to see me miss. I didn’t want to let my potential teammates see that I wasn’t good. I tried to disguise the fact that I was the WORST player. I didn’t perform well for most of the tryouts.

I still had hope. I can’t remember where I heard this, but it’s the hope that kills.

The night before the team list was going to be posted on the gym wall at school, Coach S knocked on my door. He lived down the street from me. I remember my mom answered the door and called for me. I ran to the door and I saw Coach S standing on the front porch, my heart sank. I went out to the front porch and closed the door behind me. Coach S was a tall man with a kind voice. As I looked up at him, I couldn’t focus. All I heard was…