​“For when the One Great Scorer comes
To mark against your name,
He writes – not that you won or lost –
But HOW you played the game.”

Grantland Rice, Sports Journalist

I was sitting on the sidelines, game three of flag-football playoffs when I heard one of the coaches say, “This is what defines you, right here, this is what makes you.”  I love, love, love my son’s coaches.  They are good men, they are men of God.  They have integrity and honor and they coach well.  But this one time, I didn’t agree.  Perhaps he got carried away, perhaps, he’s almost right… but this one game, in the middle of May, while my son is 9… this is not what makes him.  It may shape him, and I know it has, but it is not what makes him.

At the beginning of the year my sweet boy wanted to play football, he begged and begged.  He could do it, he was convinced… and I repeatedly told him no for lots of reasons but if I am being honest – I didn’t want him to get made fun of, he is a lot smaller than most of the boys – in height and weight.  When other mothers ask me which one my son is, it would be easy to say, “He’s the little one.” Or “He’s the short blond one.”  But I don’t mention his size because in most situations, it doesn’t matter to him… He will conquer giants one day, I just know it – I cannot help but want to protect him. Also, it’s football, flag or otherwise, it’s still dangerous and I don’t want to see him get hurt but it is something he loves. So, we’ve invested in two seasons now and we’ll start a third in the fall.  The first season their entire team barely won a game, this season that all changed.  They all worked hard and trained hard. Half his team went on to win the playoffs while the second half of the team, my sons team, came in third.  They played their hearts out… they played until their bodies gave out… they played until they broke inside and their nine and ten-year-old selves came out in a flood of tears and pounding on the grassy yard lines.

That’s hard to watch… as a mother. Part of me wanted to rescue him, wanted to pull him off the field, pack him up and take him for ice-cream but the part of the coach’s words, the part that was perhaps correct – not that it defines them but moments like this, how they deal with disappointment and challenge does get weaved into who they are. 

In the third game, my son and a team member crashed into one another… hard.  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t catch his breath and he was done.  I pulled him from that game and made him sit on the sideline with his team, cheering them on.  After losing the third game to our team mates, we were facing a tough team to beat, the next game was win or lose for the advance.  My son said all the things that defeat even before he stepped foot onto that field. He was a crying mess and he had lost hope and heart. Something stirred within me and I was reminded of our bedtime prayers. 

We pray every night for our kids, with our kids, and over our kids.  We have done variations of the following prayer since they were born. 

“Father God, thank you for this day.  Thank you for the day that you made.  Thank you for all of creation, for the flowers and trees, for the oceans and mountains, thank you for the sun, the moon and the stars.  God, you are so good to us.  Lord, thank you for these sweet kids of ours.  Help us to remember every day that they are yours first, you love them more than we could ever and they are safe in your hands.  Lord, help us to raise them how you would have them go so that when they grow up they might become mighty warriors in your army.  God, watch over them, keep them, and when they stray – bring them back to you.  Amen”

A mighty warrior… I am, we are, raising.  A boy to become a man. What kind of man do I want him to be? What kind of confidence do I want to make sure he walks away with once he’s outgrown our home?  Do I want him to be the kind of man that walks away from a challenge with his head hung low?  Or do I want him to face challenges with courage?  Do I want the privilage to spur him on, to be his biggest fan?  Do I want to be the loudest cheerleader and celebrate his biggest victories and walk him though his toughest defeats?

God, give me wisdom…

I took my son off to the side, lined his cheeks with black paint, and made him repeat after me…

I am a warrior
I am strong
I may get knocked down
But I will rise
I am a warrior
I am strong

I made him repeat it… until he believed it… until he could dry his eyes and take the field.  I wish I could say that his team won, but they did not.  They were crushed.  They did break.  It was a lesson, a hard lesson and their teammates did go on to beat that same team and win the play-offs which was equally exciting for our boys as they celebrated and hard to come in third.
   
And I am grateful… grateful for it all.  I am grateful that he has to fight, that he gets knocked down, that he is learning to rise.  I am grateful that, while this doesn’t define him, it doesn’t make him, it is only one moment of a long list of lifetime experiences that get woven into who he is.
 ​​

“For when the One Great Scorer comes
To mark against your name,
He writes – not that you won or lost –
But HOW you played the game.”

Grantland Rice, Sports Journalist

I am proud to be his mother, proud that he kept after me to be allowed to take part in something he loves.  Proud that he played well, with the rest of his team. That he gave everything he had, left everything on the field, and broke…  but he will rise – he has the heart of a leader.