Lauren Sparks

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Confessions of the Worst Sports Mom Ever (A Five Minute Friday Link-Up)

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I thought I would be different.  I had visions of me having no opinions whatsoever of the sports or activities in which my daughter wanted to participate.  In my dreams I was a laid back encourager.  Not overly involved, but always present.  Quietly supporting her as she chased her dreams.  Loose.  Chill.  Totally calm, cool and collected.  And then volleyball happened.

We live in an uber competitive area where you basically have to pay for private club sports from the time your child is tottering to be able to play for your school team.  Having not really understood this, and my daughter teething on a frozen wash rag instead of ball leather, I feel a little lacking and a little not wealthy enough to give her any kind of leg up.  And yet she loves this game.  And I love this game.  I played it.  I coached it.  And therefore, I HAVE NO CHILL.

I had every intension of being a positive, shining example to the other team moms.  But instead, I am embarrassed for anyone but my husband to hear the things that come out of my mouth when she is playing.  Sometimes, I’m even ashamed for him to hear, but he took a vow.  He’s stuck with me.

It’s painful for me that she’s not the best.  That she’s not a starter.  That she doesn’t play select at the highest level.  When her team is stinking it up, I get all riled up and come dangerously close to loosing my mess.  If any of my fellow team moms are now wondering if I have griped and complained about your daughter, the truth is that I have.  But if it makes you feel any better – I have nothing against her.  I am an equal opportunity griper.  I’m so deeply sorry.  And here’s a horrible admission.  It embarrasses me when my child messes up.  And I’m jealous of those who are better.  Did you hear that?  I am jealous of 13 year old girls.  How…utterly…ridiculous.

Every time my girl competes, I am surprised all over again at what comes pouring out of my heart.  What motivates me, who is normally a DELIGHT, to think and act this way?  PRIDE.  And what’s behind this pride?  Deep-seated insecurity.  I wanted to be the best, and now I want it for her.  But at what price?  C.S. Lewis said, “For pride is spiritual cancer:  it eats up the very possibility of love, or contentment, or even common sense.”  I’ve battled physical cancer.  I don’t need the spiritual kind.  The bible tells us, “God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble.”  James 4:6 NIV  Opposed by God.  That’s a loosing tournament bracket if ever there was one.

My goal for the next match (motivated by pleasing God and not being pond scum) is to be the world’s okayest sports mom.  A complete transformation may take some time, but I want to take the advice Paul gave to the Philippians.  “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit.  Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others.”  2:3 NIV

I am joining Kate Motaung and other members of the Five Minute Friday community  for our weekly writing adventure. To learn about Five Minute Friday, click here. This week’s prompt is, “Motivate”.

Releasing my Story

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I bought this ring on a clearance rack at an accessories store.  You know, the kind my friend’s daughter calls “the color store”.  It caught my attention because of my passionate desire to tell stories.  I get a huge kick out of telling stories that make people laugh and it warms my heart when something I have said or written encourages someone else, but I get the biggest charge when I tell people stories about Jesus.

 

As a teen and young adult, I believed my story was as dull as the knives my husband makes me use in the kitchen so I won’t injure myself (true story).  I grew up in a lower middle class Christian family.  Both my parents taught school, volunteered or actually drew a paycheck from our local church, and they remain married today.  They rarely fought, raised us to love Jesus, and took us to God’s house every time the door cracked open.  I asked Jesus to save me at 12 years of age on my bunk at church camp and – with the exception of a rebellious season in college – have never looked back.  I’ve never been to prison, lived on the streets, been in an abusive relationship or harbored an addiction to drugs.  Thanks to my idealic childhood, my testimony didn’t feel compelling.  No dramatic rescue story for me.

 

Except it’s still an amazing story.  Jesus rescued me from the punishment for my sins, and He’s still rescuing me from sins I struggle with.  And now, as time is marching quickly toward by 45th birthday, I’ve been through some stuff.  I’ve coped with a medically fragile and intellectually disabled child and endured bouts of my husband’s unemployment.  I’ve been diagnosed with cancer and operated on more times than I care to remember.  And God has seen fit to leave me here with my family for another minute.  Rescue stories all over the place.

 

And yet, now that I have what my finite mind considers “interesting” stories to tell, I find myself connecting on a greater level with others over life’s more commonplace moments.  We all want to know we aren’t alone.  Universally, we want to relate.  At times I’m filled with doubts and insecurities about this writing life.  I’m not making any money at it.  In fact, I’m in the hole as I pay for page layouts, web hosting, workshops and books to hone the craft.  So even as I feel this calling to put stories to paper – so strong at times that I can do nothing else until I get one out – I wonder if it’s a waste of what precious time I have.  Am I making a difference?  If I shut my website down today, would it matter to anyone but me?

 

And then I publish an article about something as trivial as swim suit shopping with my teen or being the worst sports mom ever, and I hear from you.  Our shared experiences and feelings strike a cord that ties us together.  And I feel community with you.   I experience the ministry happening between us.  THAT is why I keep typing away.  THAT is why I answer the call when God puts a word (or many) on my heart.  THAT is why I keep doing what I do through the times it seems fruitless.  I can’t thank you enough for reading when you do and commenting when you can.  I know your time is valuable and I don’t take that lightly.  The fact that we are bloggy friends is more encouragement to me than you will ever know.  So I will keep wearing my ring.  Even though the words are so small that no one else will probably ever notice them.  I have fancier, prettier rings, but this one reminds me to keep telling my story.  The one He gave me and allows me to share.  Because all of our stories are important.  They are how we share the love of Jesus with others.

 

I would love to hear your story.  If it is too long to mention in a comment, use the CONTACT tab on my website to send me a personal e-mail.  Or if you live in the greater DFW area, I would love to set a time to have coffee or lunch and hear it.  Who else in your life needs to hear your story?  If you’ve never asked yourself that question, pray about it.  And then be bold enough to tell.  “But encourage each other daily, as long as it is called “Today”…”  Hebrews 3:13

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