I
coached my youngest son's traveling soccer team for seven years. Though the
team had few elite athletes, their hard work had enabled them to compete with
many elite teams. As we approached our very last tournament, I envisioned a
storybook ending. The two best teams were in the other bracket and we were the
best in our bracket. I dreamed about us playing in, and winning, the
championship game. What a harvest after all the years of disciplined work!
The
first team we played had never beaten us. In the closing minute of the game,
the out-of-shape referee (who was forty yards out of position) whistled us for a foul,
awarding them a penalty kick—which they made. The referee clearly made the
wrong call, enabling that team to tie us 1-1. I was very upset, yelling repeatedly
at the referee: "That's the worst call I have ever seen!
In
our second game, we opened strong, leading 2-0 at half. But questionable
officiating and sloppy play led to a 3-2 loss. On one occasion, I angrily
slammed my hat to the ground and stomped on it to protest a call. (A grown man stomping on his own hat?!) My fantasy of a championship
had evaporated. During our final game we were clobbering the next best team in
our division 4-0 at half. It was probably the best soccer the boys had ever
played. I thought: "Well, at least we'll go out on a high note." But
the second half was a complete disaster. We were badly outplayed and only a phenomenal stop by our goalie preserved a 4-4 tie. The game ended with a fistfight—a first for my team. As
I went home that evening I was mostly disappointed in myself. Had my temper
fueled their fists? The fruit in my life was sour that day.
Once again my garden's harvest is instructive. Though
I have been gardening for several decades, I still mess up. My inattention might cause me to lose some seedlings during a hot spell. Or I might overlook an insect invasion. Does this
mean I should list my garden tools on e-bay? No. I must look at my garden—and my life!—more
panoramically. Before I worked myself into to funk over my coaching failure, I
reflected on the past seven years. I had grown in my ability to love and lead
young men, to control my volatile emotions, to trust God to give the boys the
experiences they needed.
As a Christian I want a measure of my walk with God—the harvest provides that measure.
My garden is to be increasingly
filled with the Spirit-grown fruit of love, joy, peace, and patience. When Paul
wrote to the Thessalonians he commended them: "Now about brotherly love we
do not need to write to you, for you yourselves have been taught by God to love
each other." But he urged them "to do so more and more." God
looks for progress, not perfection.
