Wilson and Grant have a favorite story right now. For those with toddlers, you understand the slight annoyance a "favorite" brings. Favorite, to a toddler, is synonymous with stubborn. They find a favorite and they REFUSE to see any alternatives. So when it's a favorite story, it's read until mommy and daddy start reciting it while they sleep, or twitching when they hear the familiar phrases. Right now the favorite is the Biblical story of David vs. Goliath. Grant, in particular, loves to tell me about how David gets that bad 'ol Goliath. He wants his shot at that giant. Not all of us face our giants with that kind of fervor.
Like many I know I was rooting for Butler in the Championship yesterday (Sorry Ashley, don't hate me). My Facebook page was teeming with like-minded friends. It's not because any of us went to Butler--though for the record, most of them live or have lived in Indiana--but because it was a fun story to follow. Why? Butler is a tiny school school. Duke has Coach K for crying out loud, no one doubted their presence in that game. They have been there before and will no doubt be there again before I'm old and gray. For Butler, it was special. They were the underdog. The David, taking on the Blue Deviled Goliath.
We get sucked in by the little guy. We root for the improbable. We want little David to win. I think about the kid who played back-up all year, knowing that NEXT year would be the beginning of his legacy. He came to the big game excited to take in the sights, and take notes...not to take snaps. But he got called in, and suddenly he went from Legacy-in-Waiting, to Here's Your Chance, Try Not To Blow It. The wrap-ups in the paper the next day, spent about two paragraphs on the winner and about 5 on the freshman.
If a movie is ever made about either game, I'd bet my books that it won't be about the guys who took home the trophy.
So why the fascination with #2 when our country defines second place as the first loser? For me, it's because I more often feel like David than I do Goliath. More like Butler than Duke. I think we all face giants that look larger than life sometimes, and statistics would put odds against us. For some the giant is visible. Maybe it's cancer, maybe it's an exam, maybe it's an actual giant (would love to hear that story if it's yours). Some people can't see theirs. It's a fear of something intangible, or it's worry over something unseen. For me, it's anxiety. This giant beast that lives inside and tells me I'll never win. It tells me it's been here before and I'm small and unprepared. It's got cannons and I'm armed with a slingshot and bad aim. What's an underdog to do?
Take a tip from those who know. Ignore criticism. Counter "you can't's" with "why the heck not?" Focus. Trust those around you. Trust Him above you. John brought me a great quote today. "Don't tell God how big your storm is, tell your storm how big your God is." Don't tell the ney sayers who you aren't, but who you are.
We are often called to do things when we don't feel like we are prepared. I don't feel like I'm ready for this particular battle just yet. But I remember that sometimes the victory isn't in the win, it's in making it to the game in the first place. It's showing up to an uneven playing field packing a slingshot made of courage and stones filled with hope. If there is anything I hope Wilson and Grant remember when they face their giants, it's that, in the end, statistics are just numbers, a "W" is just a letter, and God is bigger than any storm.
(For those Duke and Bama fans: these were just analogies, I'm not dogging your team :)
