[nukkad]

[Mable Monteiro <MableM@microland.co.in>]

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I was watching some little kids play soccer.  These kids were only
five or six years old, but they were playing a real game - a serious
game - two teams, complete with coaches, uniforms, and parents.  I
didn't know any of them, so I was able to enjoy the game without the
distraction of being anxious about winning or losing - I only wished
the parents and coaches could have done the same.  The teams were
pretty evenly matched.  I will just call them Team One and Team Two.


Nobody scored in the first period.  The kids were hilarious.  They
were clumsy and terribly inefficient, as only children can be. :-)
They fell over their own feet, they stumbled over the ball, they
kicked at the ball and missed it, but they didn't seem to care ...
they were having fun!

In the second period, the Team One coach, pulled out what must have
been his first team players and put in the scrubs; with the exception
of his best player, who he left at goalie.  The game took a dramatic
turn.  I guess winning is important even when you are five years old,
because the Team Two coach left his best players in; the Team One
scrubs were just no match for them.  Team Two swarmed around the
little guy at goalie.  He was an outstanding athlete for five, but he
was no match for three or four who were equally as good.  Team Two
began to score.

The lone goalie gave it his all.  Recklessly throwing his body in
front of incoming balls, trying valiantly to stop them.  Team Two
scored two quick points in succession.  It infuriated the young boy.
He became a raging maniac - shouting, running, and diving.  With all
the stamina he could muster, he finally was able to cover one of the
boys as he approached the goal.  But, that boy kicked the ball to
another boy twenty feet away, and by the time the young goalie
repositioned himself, it was too late.  They scored a third goal.

I soon learned who the goalie's parents were.  They were nice,
decent-looking people.  I could tell that his dad had just come from
the office, tie and all. They yelled encouragement to their son.  I
became totally absorbed, watching the boy on the field, and his
parents on the sideline.  After the third goal, the little kid
changed.  He could see it was no use; he couldn't stop them. He didn't
quit, but he became quietly desperate - futility was written all over
his face.  His father changed too.  He had been urging his son to try
harder - yelling advice and encouragement.  But then he changed; he
became anxious.  He tried to say that it was okay ... to hang in
there.  He grieved for the pain his son was feeling.

After the fourth goal, I knew what was going to happen.  I've seen it
before. The little boy needed help so badly, and there was no help to
be had.  He retrieved the ball from the net and handed it to the
referee - and then he cried.  He just stood there while huge tears
rolled down both cheeks.  He went to his knees, I saw his father start
onto the field.  His wife clutched his wrist and said, "Jim, don't.
You'll embarrass him."  But, he tore loose from her and ran onto the
field.  He wasn't supposed to for the game was still in progress.

Suit, tie, dress shoes, and all - he charged onto the field and he
picked up his son so everybody would know that this was his boy. And
he hugged him and kissed him ... and cried with him.  I have never
been so proud of any man in my life.  

He carried him off the field, and when they got close to the
sidelines I heard him say, "Scotty, I'm so proud of you.  You were
great out there.  I want everybody to know that you are my son."
"Daddy," the boy sobbed, "I couldn't stop them.  I tried, Daddy, I
tried and tried and they scored on me."  "Scotty, it doesn't matter
how many times they score on you. You're my son, and I'm proud of you.
I want you to go back out there and finish the game.  I know you want
to quit, but you can't.  And son, you're going to get scored on again,
but it doesn't matter.  Go on, now." It made a difference - I could
tell it did.

When you're all alone, and you're getting scored on - and you can't
stop them - it means a lot to know that it doesn't matter to those who
love you.  The little guy ran back on to the field, and they scored
two more times; but it was okay.  

I get scored on every day.  I try so hard.  I recklessly throw my body
in every direction.  I fume and rage.  I struggle with temptation and
sin with every ounce of my being - and Satan laughs. And he scores
again, and the tears come, and I go to my knees; sinful, convicted,
helpless.  And my Father rushes right out on the field - right in
front of the whole crowd - the whole jeering laughing world, and he
picks me up.  And he hugs me, and he says, "I am so proud of you.  You
were great out there.  I want everybody to know that you are my child.
And because I control the outcome of the game. . . I declare you the
WINNER."

Contributed by: Margo

Telling of God's Assured Love,


May 
Microland, India
email : mablem@microland.co.in
Tel : 91-80-571 1104
Fax : 91-80-571 0566
url : www.microland.net

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