Flag Football Grace

Today I am sore.

It takes great pains to lift my legs when walking. Rising from my chair requires a groan and many wobbles. I have a finger that is a lovely shade of purple.

This is all because, yesterday, I played flag football with our church. This translates into three people over the age of 30 playing with and against nine people under the age of 25. Six years makes a great deal of difference. I learned this among much other vitally important stuff.

For one, I learned that coordination at 31 is not what it was at 21. I learned that when the momentum of the upper body exceeds the terminal velocity of the lower body, one can enter into a "head skid." I learned that after falling on the ground, rolling is an excellent way to prevent your flags from being pulled- but it is not a legal way to gain yards. I learned that one's wife will, on instinct, trip you to prevent you from sacking her teammate. Lastly, I was reminded of what if feels like to be trapped.

I got to quarterback a few times, and each time, a rush came at me. What often happened was the rushers simply pushed the defenders back with them, so anywhere from three to five people were suddenly all in my space, with no way out. Running around it wasn't an option all that often (see the above mentioned age difference), so you often had to through up a hopeful pass or take the sack. Fortunately, we were playing flag football. Mostly. ( See above mentioned wife defensive strategy.)

It's one thing to feel trapped in a friendly flag football game. It's a totally different kind of trapped when you feel attacked- physically, spiritually, or emotionally. For me, the trapped feeling comes in one of two ways most often: from increased stress or from sin. Usually, they eventually tag team me.

I've felt trapped lately. Temptations rise around me like a defensive line going for the sack. The walls close in and I feel trapped, I can't see a way out of them. I can run for a bit, but I grow tired and the assailants don't. I look for a way out, but the added stress makes me question every decision, every way out is shut down by my feeling of oppression. The loss I take is much more deadly than taking a couple yards for a sack.

Praying the other day, I felt it impressed upon me to read Psalm 40. It's the one that starts out talking about waiting patiently for the Lord, then Him hearing the cry. U2 made a song about it:


In the middle of the Psalm, comes a plea. It comes from the depths of the man, of David who is no stranger to heart wrenching failure and oppression.

11 Do not withhold your mercy from me, LORD;
may your love and faithfulness always protect me.
12 For troubles without number surround me;
my sins have overtaken me, and I cannot see.
They are more than the hairs of my head,
and my heart fails within me.
13 Be pleased to save me, LORD;
come quickly, LORD, to help me.

So often, it feels our heart fails. We know what is right, we know what is good. We know what hurts God, hurts those we love, hurts ourselves. But we grow weak in the moment. We give a little ground, and the sin takes the field in a stunning blitz we weren't prepared for. Our troubles overtake us, our sins overwhelm us and we can no longer see our salvation. So, in our moment of desperation, we throw up a prayer blindly. We hope it will find it's intended target before we take the sack. We can't see Him out there, we just hope He is 'pleased to save me.'

I don't know how He does it. I don't know why and definitely not when He does it. But He saves us. Not just that first time when we first meet Him, but daily. He does hear us, and though His answer is not always immediate, He does rescue us. HE snatches our plea for rescue from the air and brings it down securely in His possession. Then He helps us.

He calms us if we will listen for Him and wait for Him. He heals us if we are willing to forgive ourselves for getting into the mess in the first place. He restores us if we are willing to shed the sin that has grown painfully into our skin. And make no mistake, ridding our lives of sin will hurt. Maybe it's the mild removal of a splinter kind of hurt, maybe it's an amputation kind of hurt. Either way, removing a sin that has become a part of you would kill you- if you weren't already dead to sin but alive in Christ (Romans 6:11).

My soreness today reminds of a good memory- a great game with good friends. The soreness of sin however reminds us of how quickly we can get lost in the old us. If only we would remember the pain of sin when in the midst of pursuing it again. There is another ache, however, that rises when we perpetually return to our old sins. It is the ache of longing for God. The ache of losing sight of Him, of broken relations with Him. Of a heart that has failed.

Sin leads to death. Death comes from a heart that has failed- both physically and spiritually.

So if your heart is failing, your options for escape have faded away or you've given up on them, lift your eyes to patch of sky that is still visible in your haze. It's there, trust me. Throw your last hope for rescue at it, trusting in a God you've strayed from but who has never left you. It's not logical, it's not good football strategy to toss a blind pass in the vain hope your receiver will snag it.

It's a good thing Jesus isn't like a flag football receiver, isn't it?