Solace

I went to the gym today. Finally. I bought a 24-Hour Fitness 2-year pass with one of my bro's from church and people make fun of us with how terrible we are at keeping each other accountable to actually going.

But back to the story.

It's not often that I go in general these days but I found myself restless at home with nothing to do. So I decided that I would go and do what I used to do back in the day, just shoot at the gym. What a pain it was to drive to Nogales only to remember I forgot the ball and then drive back home to get it. Fail Jon.

I eventually arrive and I always tell myself that I won't play a game but just shoot, knowing full and well that I'll probably end up playing multiple games. And indeed, I played about 4 mini-games of ball. Btw, I'm still really out of shape. Played three games of 2-on-2 against these 2 guys that looked like they worked out a fair amount and one of them was ultra-competitive in wanting to play. Luckily for me, I had this dude that was like a freaking pro. He dunked, he nailed about 80% of his threes and occasionally when he got bored, he passed me the ball. Okay, truthfully sometimes he was nice and passed me the ball too. I didn't feel insulted, but strangely encouraged haha. Overall, dude was legit.

But then eventually the courts cleared and I got to do what I came there for: just shoot around. And mind you I'm already all cramped up, and tired, having tried so hard for those other games when I haven't really worked out for months. Initially my shot was TERRIBLE but what I often have done to help myself get going is head to the free throw line. No matter how long I've been away from the game, I can always count on my free throw shooting about ... 78% of the time lol.

But ya, eventually I find myself in a rhythm ... doing all the same dribble moves I've done a thousand times ... Remembering "Oh ya, I've spent like a thousand hours doing this stuff over my life." I start to work in the step backs (my stepback going right will always suck haha) and footwork that is quite flawed, but I'm still able to make a fair amount of my shots. Indoor courts > Outdoor courts ... The rims are so forgiving. I start to wonder to myself once again "What if I trained myself earlier to have a jump shot where I actually jumped and shot the ball at the height of my jump? Why do I shoot the ball so low and with barely any jump?" I start to remember that indoor courts allow me to put spins on my layups. I'm surprised at how effortless it is to shoot 3's and make them again. It's been awhile.

And after at least an hour or so, I found myself back at the free throw line. By now it's probably like 11:40pm or so. I'd been at the court for like 3 hours probably. And a lot of thoughts came into my head as I was just doing the same drills I've always done. Or struggling to remember how. I think to myself, "How many times I've longed to have an open gym to just shoot around. Where the only sound is me breathing and the bounce of the ball, the swish of the net." I start to think about all the gyms I used to play in. I remember the times where I opened up the gym at CBC Houston and just shot around for a couple of hours when not a soul was at church. I remember staying at the SLC (rec center at Baylor) till Midnight sooo many times, just putting up shots until the lights would go out. Surprisingly it's only now that I remember how many times I've done that in the old driveway at my home in Houston. And I think to myself "Shooting free-throws is probably the most consistent thing I've been able to do all my life. Free-throws are probably the only thing that hasn't changed." And a whirl of memories goes back to this whole relationship with basketball again. And it eventually winds down to me sitting alone eating the same roast beef sandwich my Dad would always pack me, crying in the Strake Jesuit library because of how alone and unknown I was, how not good enough I was.

I hold my follow through as I sink about five more free throws before I move onto threes and farther threes. But by this point, I'm getting a little more emotional with each memory lapse. I think about Instagramming a photo of this empty basketball court at 24 and I think about what I'd write in the description. I convince myself that it's probably a little too showy, or that I'm just wanting too much attention by sharing my story. I thought about letting the few high school classmates of mine who follow me on Instagram know why I was so emo those 4 years. But like I said, I convince myself to not do it. 50% of the reason was because it'd look too ridiculous to take a picture of an empty court with a few people around. But I eventually sink my last three free-throws and decide to pack up and leave (btw I did miss a fair amount of shots today ... just so you know).

And as I'm walking across the court to get my stuff I start talking with God about how I'm finally okay with not getting any better at this sport. I tell Him that I don't have to judge every person on the court and wonder if I'm better. I tell Him I'm okay if I can't take these high-schoolers. And I start to recognize that after all these years of feeling like God ought to give me an apology for not letting me make the team year after year after year (too long a story to tell ... sorry. I really did do well for most of those tryouts. It wasn't the typical Asian-kid lack of confidence thing), I come to the conclusion that I've finally reached a point where I can "forgive" myself. It wasn't God that I needed forgiveness from. I've already known for years how it was His grace that saved me from making those teams (Saved me from Romans 1:18-32). But I guess I finally reached some kind of epiphany. Or more at least recognizing what I felt God's been exposing this last half-year: I haven't been able to "let go" of this thing because I haven't been able to forgive myself for failing to make the team.

"If only I had done this, if only I had been more pass-first, if only I demanded to play point guard, if only I had looked for my own shot, if only I had communicated with the coaches better why I wasn't there that Saturday, if only my family and I actually checked our voice mails, if only I didn't cramp up, if only the actual coach he makes the final decisions were there on time, etc., etc., etc."

I give the head nod to the dude at the desk as I make my way out. And I get into my car and I realize I left my iPod on the whole time (stupid Jon, now you gotta charge it a lot sooner than you had to). And it eventually gets to David Crowder Band's song "Never let go." This be my jam so I just listen as I'm driving out of the parking lot. It's about halfway through the drive where the next song was almost too much. It was Crowder Band again, "All I Can Say." I can't really hold it back anymore. And honestly, I think I left the house to go to the gym because I needed to not hold it back anymore.

To be honest, I've made peace with basketball for a little while now. Sure I act up sometimes and get annoyed by so many people who "cheat." But I'm okay with not being half the player I was. But I think that the takeaway from all of this is the realization that that scene of an empty court with just me and my ball ... That was my solace for a lot of years. When life didn't make sense, when I felt overwhelmed, discouraged, angry, depressed, that's where I would go. It was my sanctuary. My place of sanity and "recharge." It was my refuge when real life got too crazy.

And I still find myself going back to the free-throw line every time I find myself at the gym again ... Knowing all that I carry with me. And my heart kind of preaches to Jon Lau, "what a comfort it is to know that even on that day when you're unable to make these shots, maybe even the day when you can't get the ball to the rim, God is still the same, yesterday, today, forever."

I don't know why that truth of God's unchanging (They call it "immutability" in school), consistent character moved/moves me so deeply. Perhaps my guess can be summed up in this nursery rhyme:

As originally published in 1860 by Anna Bartlett Warner:

"Jesus loves me—this I know,
For the Bible tells me so;
Little ones to him belong,—
They are weak, but he is strong.

Jesus loves me—loves me still,
Though I'm very weak and ill;
From his shining throne on high,
Comes to watch me where I lie.

Jesus loves me—he will stay,
Close beside me all the way.
Then his little child will take,
Up to heaven for his dear sake"

[Heh. Yes, I just wiki'd that. And found even more treasure than the first verse.]

"[The hardest thing we may ever do in life is receive the love of God.]"

"For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen."-Ephesians 3:14-21

Grace and Peace Fam,
-Jon