Half Time

(Inspired by the encouragement of a dear friend as I sat in the dark corners of the locker room)

I don’t pretend to fully understand the game of football.  I know I could if I truly wanted to; however, the reason I enjoy watching the sport has nothing at all to do with the rules or purpose of football.  

I watch football, because every now and then, a player has a moment when they forget that they are mortal.  In the heat of that moment  a split-second decision must be made.  The player cannot confer with a buddy or pause for a moment of prayer; he must act swiftly without ample time to weigh out the consequences of his actions.  

Spectacular scenes unfold before the viewer’s eyes when a player makes a confident move, takes a risk, becomes vulnerable and doesn’t look back or change his mind as he fights to move his team toward a victorious finish.

When all goes well, the teammate is hailed a hero.  Just as in real life, many times a player gets the life kicked out of him; sometimes he is able to stand up and hobble off of the field, with or without the help of his teammates.  There is always that moment of dead silence as the crowd watches and waits to see if the player will rise or whether the medics will circle the scene of the incident like an army of ants drawn to freshly cut watermelon at a picnic.

From the stands or from the comfort of our living rooms we cheer for our favorite team and for our favorite players.  By the time half time rolls around, we have cast our predictions for the victor.  In our minds, half time is not really a part of the game, it’s a resting period.  This is not the case at all.  Half time is not a time of rest for the players; rather a time of action.  It’s often what happens during half time that will determine the outcome of the game.  

In real life, things don’t always go as planned.  Getting kicked in the teeth, blindsided, having the air knocked out of you—not in the game plan.  It doesn’t take long to figure out who is on your team and who is not.  Sometimes the size of our team shrinks when we are in the fetal position wondering if we have the strength or desire to stand back up.  When things look hopeless, predictions are cast, and it would serve us well to run, walk or crawl to the locker room to figure out what half time is really about.

When rugs are pulled out and disappointments strike, in the dark corners of the locker room we must pause and reconsider everything we are doing, everything we believe, everything we are.   

Whether or not our team supports us or chooses to abandon us, we must know who we are in the presence of an audience of One; the One who will never turn His back on us.  The One who loves us no less whether we are hailed the hero or dubbed the loser.  

Half time may linger for many days, months or years as we wrestle with questions that require a deep searching of our souls.  It is in the silence of the locker room, not on the field, that we can clearly hear the voice of God.  In the dark loneliness of the valley His care for us is ever so gentle as He mends those parts of our hearts that are frail and torn.  

At just the right time, at the perfect moment, His breath of life fills us with renewed hope.  Though it seemed impossible to come back and finish a strong game, we are ready.  We are no longer playing for ourselves and our eyes are no longer scanning the crowd for approval.  We are bold, we are confident, we are His.  

The game is not over yet-- this is only half time.

Stay the Course...

Sheila Cote