“God chose us in
Christ to be holy and without fault in His eyes. ~ Ephesians 1:4
They lined up like soldiers awaiting bullets instead of dodgeballs.
Nine-year-old Kyle stared at his sneakers. They suddenly seemed more
interesting than the looming humiliation. As captains began picking their
teams, each name sliced off another piece of Kyle’s pride. Please, not
last (again).
Years spun by. His academic
prowess led him into electrical engineering, where he designed circuits for
NASA’s outer space endeavors. Kyle’s work helped send robotic spacecraft to the
moon’s surface, stepping stones to Neil Armstrong’s famous leap.
The boy, once picked dead last,
placed first in a race measured in moondust and megahertz.
One day, a neighbor invited him
to join a pickup basketball game at the park. Kyle was skeptical. “You mean,
I’d actually play?” he questioned.
Mark looked puzzled. “Of course,” he said. “Why else
would I ask you to join us?”
Kyle considered the offer. Though he’d been jogging a
little, he had no real idea how to play basketball. But curiosity sidelined
fear. Why not give it a try, he thought.
Kyle spent the entire game
running erratically around the court, never touching the ball. He didn’t care,
and no one else seemed bothered either. Nobody laughed. Nobody pointed. His
skills barely improved, but his self-confidence soared, and he made friends.
Yet, the old shame lingered, a
bruise that never fully healed. He wished he could rewrite his early chapters
for those athletically challenged, who stood sidelined, wishing and shrinking.
After retiring, Kyle wandered into the world of elementary
recess. He watched tiny prodigies, the travel-team dynamos who ruled the
blacktop. The quiet ones, who moved like he had done, hugged the fence,
invisible.
So, he launched his own “Benchwarmers League.” The first
week, eight kids showed up, wide-eyed and hopeful. Kyle split them into two
teams. No pep talk. No
drills. Just a ball, a court, and permission to play.
Each week for 12
weeks, the kids returned, drawn by acceptance rather than skill. Kyle noticed
them standing taller, laughing more, and bonding closer. Their minor athletic improvements
didn’t matter half as much as the joy he saw in their faces. He’d been chosen by
His Creator for a role crafted perfectly for him.
Our God chooses us, too. Not for our glowing résumés or
highlight reels. Not because, in His eyes, we shine brighter than others. His
choice is rooted in His love, His reign, and His heart. Kinda like Kyle looked
at his band of misfit round-ballers. God definitely wants us on His Team!
Almighty Father, we too often keep score in
cruel ways. Thank You for choosing me. My salvation rests not on talent or
achievement, but on Your unshakable grace. No matter the labels describing me,
I know that I’m Yours, and that’s enough. Amen
