peaking

We love the defying-the-odds stories, stories of second and third chances.

The true stories of athletes craftily finding ways to still compete (here, here, & here, for example). 

 

The true story of professional ballerina Wendy Whelan, who brilliantly kept on performing years past the typical age of ballerinas.

Or the true story of pro boxer George Foreman. He lost his boxing championship to Muhammad Ali at his peak physical condition of 25 years old...

then retired soon after, totally left the profession for 10 years...

...but regained the same boxing championship, about 20 years after losing to Ali.

 

Not just athletes, of course.

There's the true story of singer Mavis Staples, all of 71 years old when she won her inaugural Grammy ... even though she'd received her first Grammy nomination four (!!) decades earlier. 

I could go on with more examples. 

There's a reason we gravitate to these stories. It encourages us to hear examples of triumph with people who succeeded, despite not being at what we might presume is their peak condition.

For me, these true stories relieve me. I hope they relieve you as well.

 

They remind me that should an opportunity come my way, and even if I KNOW I'm not at my best, there still could be a way to work it out. It's a relief to remember that I can still have off days. 

 

You can have off days as well. Doesn't mean all is lost.

We don't know when our chances will come with whatever God would have us pursuing.

And yes, of course: we should try to make much of whatever chances we're given. But it's false to believe that we're gonna blow it unless we're at our absolute best.

Real-life examples remind us this isn't true. Real-life examples from ancient times and places remind us this isn't true.

So this is why I love stories of a near 50-year-old champ, a quinquagenarian ballerina, or a 71-year-old Grammy winner. No doubt they were not as sharp as their younger selves. 

 

Mavis's voice couldn't lilt about the higher notes like it once could. 

 

Wendy's joints required more upkeep than her 23-year-old self. 

 

Big George couldn't bounce around the boxing ring as deftly as his younger self.

They weren't at their peak. But they were still good enough for when the opportunity came. 

Whew.

 

dreams, plans, God, all y'all

Cooperating with God's plans for life can make people uneasy, for a few reasons. Well, I should speak for myself: deciding to cooperate God's plans for my life has made me uneasy (and sometimes still does).

Here's why: God's not the only one with plans. I have life plans too. We all do. We dream dreams. We harbor hopes. It challenges us to figure out how (or if) some of our hopes and dreams fit with God's plans.

I've sometimes thought that -- in order to follow God's plans for my life -- I'd have to, as a prerequisite, kiss goodbye and detonate other cherished dreams and hopes. I'd have to walk away from them, and never look back.

(walking away as dramatically as possible, of course...)

You ever feel like this?  I'm sure you do. It's wrenching to consider. 

This came to my mind while watching some rehab work on a nearby home. In the span of a few hours, workers totally ripped the front porch base away!

And yet, they only removed the porch base. The existing roof and columns remain, dangling there (it's honestly a silly sight, these spindly 2x12's supporting everything). There's a clear purpose for utilizing this makeshift support: a new porch will soon be built where the old one was. The new porch will connect, incorporate, and support the existing roof and columns.

This is comparable to our plans, and God's plans.

Don't hear what I'm not saying: following God's plans could mean letting go of some dreams, hopes and wants. That happens.

It could mean letting go of that person. Letting go of a professional status. Letting go of the name-brand coffee. Letting go of the gaming record. Letting go of a coping mechanism that's served us OK, but no longer does. Letting go of bragging rights. Letting go of a personal identity painstakingly duct-taped together. Letting go of cramped security. Letting go of that subscription. Letting go of the pride. Letting go of that crowd. Letting go of rights. Letting go of having the last word.

But God has a way, a track record, of making use and re-purposing new plans alongside (some of) what we've learned along the way of chasing our dreams, so that eventually, nothing whatsoever goes to waste. He also, in time, replaces dashed dreams with dreams better than we could have possibly imagined.

Sometimes God's plans for us means we need a stronger base foundation, so as to be ready for what the dreams may eventually require of us. So we grit it out.

Sometimes it means we're in a holding pattern, dangling by some spindly supports while we wait for that new, firmer footing. So we trust.

Sometimes we're the rickety porch, needing repair, having no choice but to trust the builder will be able to distinguish between what needs replacing, and what's worth salvaging. So we wait, and hope.

Right now, it's just boards holding up this porch roof. But when the work is done with this porch, it'll look better -- and will be stronger -- than before.