“So in any way, I guess, have you grown as a person through track?” I asked. The two of us sat at the student center, interviewing each other for a class assignment in February.
“Yeah,” she said. “So, when I started track in middle school, I was self-conscious. I didn’t have a place where I felt super confident. I feel like track became something where I started feeling confident. And so, then it became almost too much where it like became my identity.
“So then I think that like God, he helped me grow a lot. I found confidence in him and in other things outside of track. So I feel like it’s helped me become a more well-rounded person, and like learn more about myself and about who God is and how he works.”
“That’s awesome,” I said, typing her answer.
I looked up when I was done, and then she asked, “So, you’ve been playing tennis for five years. How have you grown through tennis?”
“Uh . . . Hm, that’s a good question. . . .”
“Yeah, that’s OK. Take your time.”
“Uh.” Why can’t I think of anything? I thought.
I tried to think of tennis bringing me closer to God, or making me a better person somehow, or if I learned something about myself through tennis, but nothing came to mind. I tried thinking of something relating to a team mentality, but I felt like tennis wasn’t that kind of sport like most others, and I definitely preferred singles over doubles.
My freshman year of high school I was just learning the sport, and I made some new friends and my passion for tennis began. This isn’t growth, though. My sophomore year my tennis game improved big time, and I made varsity (though that’s only because our team was too small for a JV team). I had a huge crush on someone, and I have core memories from that spring season of how my crush affected my mentality for tennis practice. But that doesn’t count as growth. My junior year I was beginning to be one of the better players on the team. But getting better at it doesn’t count as growth. My senior year I was one of the best players on the team and was fully confident in my tennis ability. I won most of my matches. And I was satisfied to look at my growth as a player throughout high school: my freshman year I was the worst on the team and my senior year I was top five. But that’s not personal growth.
Before the school year even started for my first year at Taylor University, I was in tennis club. I was excited to meet new players and play at a higher level. Tennis club improved as it went on, and so did my tennis game. No growth there, though.
So, I stole from her. “Yeah, kinda like what you said, because I’m good at tennis, and I like it, I’d say it’s something I found confidence in. So yeah.”
“Yeah, that’s good!” she said. Why couldn’t I think of anything? She asked some more questions, and my answers came easier. But by the time our interview was over, that one question still lingered: Did I grow at all through tennis?
Several months went by, and while I didn’t obsess over this question, it never fully went away. Every once in a while, I’d wonder how I grew through tennis and why I didn’t know. I kept playing tennis for most or all of those months, since I was so passionate about the sport. But passion doesn’t necessarily mean personal growth.
In January the next year I took Contemporary Christian Belief class. In one section we learned about the theology of people with physical disabilities, something I didn’t necessarily think about much. One night I read a few articles about it. I remember one of the articles saying that some people with physical disabilities think that they will still have their physical disabilities in heaven. The articles and what I learned from them stuck with me. I felt like I had an unfair advantage, like I was overly privileged.
After we talked about it in class for two hours, I thought about it more. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I was sentimental every moment but didn’t fully know why. I knew most of it had to do with feeling bad for the physically disabled and being grateful for my body, but I had a feeling there was something more on top of this.
That day I went to do homework at the student center, as usual. I sat at a table on the second floor in a hallway by the counseling center and bathrooms. As usual, I listened to music. I decided to try out the OST for one of my favorite shows, which was a sports story. Thoughts started coming back: my passion for tennis and physical disabilities. And there it clicked: the two were connected, and this is why all the talk and reading about disabilities so deeply affected me.
I already knew that I was privileged and extremely grateful to have a fully-functioning body. But here I realized that I’m even more privileged than that: I’m athletic. Not everyone is necessarily fit, or fast, or strong, or agile. Not everyone has a lot of endurance and coordination. Already, clearly God has privileged me.
But as I listened to this music about a sports story, with its deep strings and intensity perfectly capturing my passionate epiphany, I realized I was privileged to the point of feeling sickly spoiled: God made me good at tennis. Not everyone has a fully-functioning body. Fewer people are athletic. And much fewer people are good at tennis. And I am all of them. God didn’t have to give me a body that works. He definitely didn’t have to make me athletic. And he certainly didn’t have to make me good at tennis. But he did. He gave me this gift.
As butterflies fluttered in my stomach and scattered throughout my body and chills ran up and down my spine, the music still playing in my ears, I asked myself, What if God gave me a fully-functioning body so that I could glorify him with it? What if God made me athletic so that I could glorify him with my athleticism? What if God gave me a passion for tennis so that I could glorify him with this passion? What if God let me be good at tennis so that I could glorify him when I play it?
As I teared up in the student center, I knew my own body, its abilities, and my tennis skill are all a gift from God. I knew that as with spiritual gifts, I must give this back to God. I knew I must use this gift he has given me to glorify him. Otherwise I would be putting it to waste. Tennis could no longer be something I played and just said that I did it for God. It had to be more. I didn’t want to play tennis with God as an afterthought anymore. I now wanted to play tennis with God as the focus. Because he has gifted me, I knew I must play with every aspect of my game aiming to glorify him.
I couldn’t wait for the next season to start.
My mentality for tennis changed because of this epiphany. Every time I play now, I try to remember that this is from God, for God. I’m human, so I don’t remember all the time, and I don’t care enough all the time. I wouldn’t say I always try to play like Jesus would if he was in my shoes. I wouldn’t say I always try to treat my teammates and opponents like I would want to be treated. I wouldn’t say my sportsmanship is always the best. I wouldn’t say I always play my best. But I do all of this noticeably more than before my epiphany.
I’d say my passion and skill grew, too. I realized that as time went on from that moment at the student center, my excitement to play tennis has increased. And I watch tennis now, too. I’m invested in it much more than before. Naturally, with that increased excitement and passion, my skill has increased.
So, did I learn anything from tennis? Did I grow as a person through tennis? Maybe, maybe not. I don’t think about it much anymore, and I don’t really care. That’s a question of the past. What I care about is the present. I can only grow and improve by focusing on the now. Looking to the past changes nothing. Looking to the present and future changes everything. I know my current mentality for my sport, and I will stick to it. I exist to glorify God, so I will gladly do that through the physical gifts he’s given me.
Comments