There is a basketball court and there is a ball. And there
are six boys, hot and sweaty, standing with their hands on hips and smiles on
their faces, wondering if I can do it. I
am wondering the same thing.
“I saw him do it last week!”
“Yeah, he dunked from the 3-point line!”
“I saw him banging on kids all game!”
The three point line is made of white tape. I rub the toe of
my shoe against the line, feeling its texture, curling its edge until it begins
to peel from the pavement. Scooping the ball off the ground, I slowly walk
toward the center of the court. I will need a running start; that much is certain.
I instinctively lick my hand, cleaning the bottom of my shoe, even though the
court is made of concrete and there is no lack of traction. My palm tastes like rubber and sweat.
Exhaling deeply, and cradling the ball in my right arm, I
begin to run. One step. Two. Across the
three point line. Three. Four. My toe
lands squarely on the free throw line and I launch myself into the air. I
extend fully, stretching my arm toward the hoop. My wrist smacks hard against
the rim, the backboard rattles, and the ball slams through the net. The boys begin to cheer. “Luke Skywalker,” one says. “Lebron James,” says another. “Do IT AGAIN!” someone shouts. “He just banged from the FREE THROW LINE!”
I
smile. In some strange way, I feel a little bit like a hero, even though all
I’ve done is stuff an overinflated basketball through a six foot rim. Being a hero should not be this easy, I
think. Being a hero should take more effort, more time…more everything. But if
this is all it takes, if something as simple as a game and a ball might crack
their stoic shells, I will gladly play the role. The ball bounces against the chain link fence,
and rolls to a stop. I jog to retrieve it.
Every
Thursday, I help run an after-school program that includes tutoring, sports,
and Bible study. Our program consists of 30-40 boys and girls, ranging from
5-13 years old. Most of our program
attendees come from tough backgrounds. They live in Lynchburg’s poorest
neighborhood, a place where real-life heroes are hard to come by. Most of the boys’ fathers do not live in
their homes. Their lives are steeped with erroneous notions of manhood: fists
that clench too quickly, an almost obsessive need to appear tough, insistence
that nothing scares them. Just last
week, a friendly game of knockout devolved into a not-so-friendly game of
knockout, the type that includes haymakers and left hooks. Instances like these
have taught me that many of these children are surrounded by an environment
that does not afford them the luxury of childhood. They are forced to fight
back or be swallowed.
Learning how
to relate to these children has been a challenge. Each Thursday, I am reminded of the gulf
between their upbringing and mine. I have never lived in a home that lacked
hugs. I have never felt unsafe in my own neighborhood. My mother has never
tried to strangle me, and I have never had to fight for my life, and I have
never hit my mother, or fled my home, or walked barefoot for miles down glass
strewn streets. Theirs is a world that I do not know.
Honestly, it
is difficult for me to make sense of the stresses these children live under, to
grasp the pressures they face. But I do know that, intrinsically, they are no worse
than me. We are all born sinners, in
desperate need of God’s grace. These children
do not need more school psychologists, more of my frustration, or more shouting
voices. They get enough of these
things. What they need are more mentors.
What they need is more love. What they
need is Jesus Christ and His ability to transform even the most broken lives. I might be able to play the temporary role of
thunder-dunking “hero,” but Jesus plays the eternal role of Savior.
Understanding
these truths has been a process. I sometimes struggle to view the children as
individuals rather than as a collective group that needs to be “fixed.” This
mentality is not only overwhelming, but it is wrong. Recently, God has shown me that it is not my
job to “fix” anything. It is not my job
to “fix” the neighborhoods that these children live in, or to “fix” their
shredded families, or to “fix” the various cycles that mug people of hope. That is God’s job. And He has promised that, in His time, He
will do it. Thankfully, my role is much
different, much simpler, than God’s. My
job is to be an effective member of the body of Christ. My job is to love my
neighbor as myself, to serve as Christ’s ambassador, to share the truth of the
Gospel with the belief that God’s word will not return void, but that it will
accomplish that which He purposes. And
in doing these things, perhaps God
might use me to help fix the brokenness of this world.
Just as I
have recognized my place in God’s plan, He has thrust a thirteen year old boy
into my life. The boy’s name is Lamont, and he is starving for truth and for
love. Lamont is barely thirteen years
old, but calling him a thirteen year old is like calling a fifteen year old dog
a teenager. In the past few years,
Lamont has experienced unbelievable pain and hurt. In spite of this, and in spite of the ridicule
he faces from peers, it is clear that God is working in Lamont’s heart. During Bible study, he asks questions. He volunteers
to read every single passage. He tells people that their disrespect toward God’s
word frustrates him. He wants to know God. He wants to engage with the Gospel. Last week, I pulled him aside to tell him that
I see God working in his heart. He responded by saying that he comes each
Thursday to learn about God, not to play basketball.
Even though
God is all about redemption, it still amazes me to see Him reach into a broken
situation and bring about transformation.
I am confident that God has begun a good work in Lamont, and that He
will bring it completion. I am equally confident that God has brought Lamont
into my life because I have a role to play in this redemption story. My role is to love him, to serve as Christ’s
ambassador, and to share the truth of the Gospel with him.
In
the coming weeks, I would appreciate if you could pray that God would continue
to provide opportunities to love Lamont.
Also, as we seek to (re)structure our program in the hopes of serving a few children well, rather than many children poorly, we would appreciate prayer for wisdom and guidance. God is doing incredible things through Sports Outreach and I am grateful and humbled to be a part of His work. As always, I appreciate your love and your prayers.
-Tyler
Bodlak (SOI Service Intern)
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