I've had some time to chew on this topic as it hit me last week. I wanted to write it immediately, but I knew that I would spew out something prematurely and find myself frustrated, not speaking clearly the point. So hopefully I am moving forward and the words come out as needed. Heads up, this may be a long one.
Last week during a volleyball match I almost dropped a kid (20 years old? maybe?) and laid into him. You see, my kids have been coming with to volleyball for the first time ever. Typically my parents watch them and they eat a ton of freeze pops, ice cream, and pretzels while wanting to play and watch cartoons until we get them. This year, the scheduler has made it easier keeping teams on to play either the first two matches or the second. We didn't drop the kids with my parents the first week due to timing, and so they followed along. They (mainly Caleb) learned how to keep score during the matches. The referee was extremely patient and has deemed them "hers" during matches. Last week during the 9:15 match my kids, along with another child of our team, were sitting to do score. Caleb did the first game having problems only when the numbers stuck to each other. The second game the girls wanted to help. At one point they knocked over the scoreboard. Other times one would change the score in the middle of a point. Things weren't fantastic. So I told Caleb to take over for AJ. The other parent yelled to her child to let Caleb do it alone. So we handled the situation. Points later, Caleb is moving the score and numbers stick a little. It was the old school P.E. style score board where you move the ones column points and to get to double digits you have to flip back to zero and turn the number in the tens column. He was doing this (for the opposing team) and it didn't move as quickly as one player hoped. He burst out with, "Can we please find someone else do to the scoring?!" My response was, "By all means." He yelled to his girlfriend to do it and continued to ramble on in anger and finished it with, "This is why you don't bring your kids to volleyball." Whoooooo doggy. I almost had him on the ground. My adrenaline was rushing. I'm not a flight type of gal and I was ready to fight. However, I left room for Jesus and called a time out. No, I was not pleasant. It was, "Time out! Time. I need a time out before I smack him!" Once the referee gave us the time out I walk out of the gym. I wanted to swear but didn't have anything to say besides, "Don't talk about my kids!" In that moment the rage subsided and I heard the voice of God, "Use it." I walked straight into that gym with a feeling I haven't had in a long time. One that said, "Let's do this." I felt like I was back in high school playing street ball. The grin on my face proved it. (Charlie knew what was about to happen.) I walked to where we meet to talk between plays. We gave our "Side out" call and walked back to positions. Our team made short work of them while Caleb continued to keep score. I was ready to fight. Most people say it's that Mama Bear syndrome. It's a little more than that. Sure I wanted to drop him because he was being rude, but it was more than that. It's something that the referee shares with me. When I was out of the gym the referee decided to give her opinion to the opposing player. She put him in his place and made sure his girlfriend knew that Caleb was in charge of the score board. Remember the saying, "Pick on someone your own size"? That's a bit of what it comes to. If there is anything we know about me, it's that I am like my father. I promise you those Progressive commercials were designed by someone that met my family. One thing I always admired in my dad was his ability to stick up for those that couldn't. He often played in basketball tournaments with his 6'5" cousin and younger, but slightly taller and broader brother. Players were quick to start fights, but my smaller than other father never backed down and enjoyed a good win. Heck, you have to stand up for the little guy when it's you. He took that with him and I received that mindset as well. I remember a time in college when I was so mad. I had been wronged and I needed help. I called my dad waiting for him to save the day. He didn't. He wouldn't. I was an adult and was left to handle on my own. At first I was upset that he wouldn't help his little girl. Later I came to realize he knew I didn't need it. I was more than capable of handling it and I needed to fight my own battles. Yes, we fight for the those who can't fight for themselves. Don't believe me? Ask my two friends of 25 years. Waiting to load the bus in 3rd grade, a kid began picking on who I thought was a girl in my class. I got him to knock it off and became friends with her. I then learned it was her twin sister who was in my class and became friends with her as well. 25 years of friendship because I came to her aid in the bus line. There was the time in 2nd grade I fought two boys because they were pretending to kick my friend in the head. The boys were forced to apologize for fighting with a girl, even though I took them both down. I am a woman that loves justice. I inherited it from my father. And I adore the stories of my great grandfather and all the times he fought for the little guy - even against racists in the streets of Boston. I wish I would have known him. This isn't about the family tree of fighters. This is about the love of justice. Over and over we see in the Old and New Testament to take care of the orphan and the widow. We have to help the poor. We are to be ministers to the people that cannot take care of themselves. It's our duty to care for others. It's our job to fight for those that can't pick up the fight for themselves. The referee stood in for me and my son when she spoke to our opponent. She fought when I couldn't (I could, but probably would've been arrested). Those little things are reminders for that there is a bigger fight out in the world. If we are not willing to stand in the gap and fight for those that can't what will happen? Are we willing to let people go hungry? There is a continual stigma that the poor are poor because they drank it all away or used it up on drugs. I won't deny those cases, but why are those the only ideas we have? What about the man that loses his job? Well, society has taught him to load everything on credit cards and loans. He's alright for a few months, but when another job doesn't come he loses it all. His wife despises him and runs off with the kids. Now he floats around trying to get by and all we can do is try to ignore him. Why give him a buck? He'll use it on booze. (Wouldn't you?) Who are we to make the judgment call on his character? How would you feel? There are people who are hurting. They barely make it day to day. And some days they don't want to try anymore. I am so thankful each and every day that I see friends in the adoption process or fostering. I am so thankful for people that are serving in food banks and group homes that give the homeless a chance to get it right. I am grateful for the staff at the facility where my grandmother is, and the friendships she is creating. Caring for the poor, the orphans, and the widows could mean a number of things. It doesn't always mean money. It could be the time you take to sit and talk and give them company. It could be having them over for a warm meal. It could be praying for them. It must be fighting for them. It must be taking action. There is something oh so fulfilling in fighting for those that can't - even if it is just in the moment. It isn't always easy to know how to help the poor, the orphan, or the widow, but I'm sure you can find times where the little guy is getting pushed around. I challenge you to step up for the little guy. I'm sure you can find someone that is struggling to fight for themselves on any street in America. Fight for justice. Isaiah 1:17 - Learn to do good; Seek justice, Reprove the ruthless, Defend the orphan, Plead for the widow. And yes, a week after the incident when I told my father what had happened, he was ready to fight. Don't mess with Dada.
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May 2023
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