Basketball

 

Basketball.

One team trying to get the ball into one hoop, the other team trying to get in the other hoop.

It sounds really simple, doesn’t it?

I’m terrible at it! I mean, have you seen me try to dribble a ball?

Maybe it’s my feet. Maybe it’s my hand-eye coordination. Maybe it’s my timing. I don’t know. Whatever it is, even when I’m standing still, the ball plunges down, hits my toes, and bounces away. You know what? Maybe it’s the ball.

And yesterday, after standing there for thirty minutes, just trying to bounce the ball up and down, I got it right. Well, mostly right.

What do you mean “So what?” Obviously, you don’t appreciate the work we athlete’s put into our sports.

Our friend Peter, a missionary working with Jungle Kids for Christ, is having a basketball camp for the kids in Misahualli this week. We went, and learned how bad I actually am at it.

I know practice is supposed to help, you know “practice makes perfect” but there’s this other thing.

Called talent.

And with basketball, I just don’t have any. I mean, I’m good at missing the hoop and bouncing the ball of some random by-standers head. But I don’t really think that counts.

“Who’s team am I one?”

“Which basket is this supposed to go into?”

“Oh, so you mean there’s a better way to get the ball in the hoop than climbing the pole?”

And shooting hoops?

It feels like I always miss. I could try ten times and only make one hoop.

It’s like my life. When I do try, I mess it up somehow and miss.

I do this, only to find out I was supposed to do that.

I do this, and there isn’t anything worse I could have done.

I do that, and I get “what on earth are you doing?”

I don’t do that, and I get “why are you just sitting there?”

So do I feel like shooting the hoops of life?

I don’t know. I might miss.