People. That is what is on my writing agenda today: family people, bleacher sitting people, cheering people, and running, jumping, spinning people. Those people are an interesting lot.
First off is the one-thirty p.m. gathering of one adult male, two adult females, one teenage male, three teenage females, and a twelve-year old. This fine group of people is my family and me. Most of us are clad in Seahawk shirts and caps, and all of us are sitting upright around a video screen. On this windy, rainy, game day in the Pacific Northwest, we intently watch the game action on the screen, make comments to each other, the game officials, and the players, and eat homemade stew--all at the same time. We are a talented bunch of fans.
Field Goal, Seahawks!! A cheer goes up around the room, bowls go down, happy dances are performed, and high-fives are given all around. An afternoon of football is underway. At the first touchdown, water is spilled on the carpet, soaked up with a towel, then the glass refilled.
By halftime, with the Seahawks leading, the guys are now sprawled all over the sofas.The teenage girls are using a curling wand on their hair while sitting on the floor, still cheering, groaning, and complaining over the game. One adult woman is using an exercise machine--pedal, pedal, pedal. And me? I am washing down a chocolate chip cookie with a brown cow (root beer and milk combo), watching the game, and being entertained by my family.
Go Hawks. Go Guys on the sofas. Go Girls with partially-curled hair. Go pedaling daughter-in-law.
Third quarter comes around, the Seahawks still lead. The girls, with beautifully coiffed hair, are now polishing their finger nails. The sprawled out guys have become very vocal, sideline coaches, my daughter-in-law puts away uneaten stew, and I eat another chocolate chip cookie while learning about accent nails.
I know about accent pillows, accent walls, and accent accessories, but I had never heard about accent nails until the third quarter of yesterday's game. The two granddaughters who were giving themselves manicures each had ten beautifully polished nails (lavendar), but on each hand was one nail adorned with a glittering finish--the accent nail. Wow. I learn something new everyday--almost. Almost learn or almost every day? take your pick.
Fourth quarter! The game can go either way. Will we finish victoriously? Go Hawks. Everyone is sitting at attention once more. Everyone that is except my oldest grandson. He is now dressed in his basketball jersey and pacing the floor in the entry way. He doesn't want to be late for his pre-game warm-ups, but doesn't want to miss the end of the Seattle game either. So he paces.
Finally, the clock runs down and the rival team is unable to score. WE WIN! My grandson makes his exit. Two granddaughters also exit. They head home to get ready for the high school basketball game, and those of us remaining straighten up the house before leaving, too.
It is time for an evening of basketball. Go Cats!
The Junior Varsity game is almost underway when we arrive. The crowd is sparse. Actually it isn't a crowd at all--just us parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, the usual bunch. We nod, wave, smile and greet each other, exchange a few pleasantries, ask about injured sons, and settle ourselves into our usual spots in the bleachers and onto our don't-leave-home-without-it cushions. There are also the little brothers and sisters milling around with either suckers in their mouths or bags of popcorn in their hands. We are ready for action.
For the next one and one-half hours, the basketball family cheers and encourages the young players. It moans over missed shots, jumps to its feet at great plays, and goes silent when a player goes down. It shakes its head and gets upset at the refs' "bad" calls. Throughout the evening, as it eats popcorn, nachos, pretzels and cookies, licks suckers, drinks water, and laughs, it is one living, breathing unit. It is family. And it grows.
Smiling cheerleaders arrive. Students (macho, flirty, shy) arrive. Family of varsity players arrive, and so do people from the visiting team. By the time our JV team defeats their rival from across the harbor, the gym is fairly full of people ready for two more hours of continuing excitement.
Go Cats!
The whistle blows, the ball is tossed, it's tipped, we score. The cheerleaders yell, they kick, they shake their pompoms. Our crowd cheers, the opponents moan. The cheerleaders smile. The Varsity game is on.
The young players are unbelievable to watch. They run fast and play hard. They dive for loose balls, and throw themselves at opponent's passes. They jostle for rebounds, and wrestle to tie up the ball. They charge into massive bodies, then pass to the little guy on the outside who takes the shot. They dribble around and through. They pass over and under. They make lay-ups and three-pointers. They throw rim shots and air balls. They foul other players, are fouled themselves, and sometimes foul out. But, even more amazing, is the body control they do have, and the finesse they can exhibit. These young men, whether playing uninhibitedly or with some degree of poise, all possess heart, energy, and passion.
When the final buzzer sounds, the opponents cheer over their victory, our crowd cheers over the great job our guys did, and I am exhausted. Three exciting games and eight hours of high intensity play is almost too much for one day. And next weekend we will do it all over again. Only next weekend, it is the girls who have the home game after the Seahawks finish up. Whew.
After watching the afternoon's and evening's action, part of me says, Oh to be young again. But another, more realistic parts says, Who are you kidding? You weren't even that way when you were young.
To be totally honest with myself, I have always been quiet, reflexive, yet curious and observant. I have never lived life at a break-neck, throw myself into the fray pace. Although I love being part of the action, my enjoyment comes from experiencing the sights and sounds around me, watching the actions and interactions of people I am with, and being awed by the athletic abilities of others--that is the way I live.
I work on the sideline by encouraging, cheering, and helping. I will pray with you and for you. But I don't sense God's calling to throw myself into the heat of the battle. Until God's still-small-voice tells me otherwise, I will remain where I feel I must be. Is that an excuse for where I am in my walk with the Lord? I don't think so; however, if it is, I need the Holy Spirit Referee to blow his whistle, point to me in the stands, and say, "You, Jan, get yourself down here on the court. We need you here, now!" When and if that happens, may I be obedient.
Lots of love on this Sunday afternoon,
Jan and Licorice (Sleeping on a chair. Go Licorice Kitty!)
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