The Sunrise Rotary Ballers

This week, I struggled. For many different reasons. But specifically, I struggled immensely to type words on this keyboard. For most of this week, I am confident that the inside of my brain resembled a beehive after being jarred with a stick by a little child who just wandered by.

It's Thursday evening in Little Rock, Arkansas, as I put the finishing touches on this week’s writing. I am committed to cultivating conversation about being with people, both being with and being be’d with. My friend Anne says if you want to write, sit down and get to 300 words as often as possible. I got a little over 300 the first night I drafted this and was proud. It’s a bit longer now, and I am proud of that too.

However, that’s not why we are here - we are here to talk about basketball.

Thanks for being here.

The Sunrise Rotary Ballers

This week, I played in a basketball tournament. Not just any tournament, but the Rotary Basketball tournament. It's a big deal in southwest Springfield, and I participated this year.

As a part of the team. The Sunrise Rotary Ballers.

I’m no Lebron James - but I did pick his number. I had to do it for me. It wasn't about telling the crowd how good I was. But about knowing that he's a legend, and I needed that, all that legend energy that comes with his number, to make it happen. Whatever it is, I needed it…. and let me tell you, during game one, I played for roughly four minutes, and I took five shots and missed all of them. But three bounced off the rim. So, if you take four minutes and add that to five shots and subtract the three that bounced off the rim, you get the number six.

4+5=9

9-3=6

It was destiny. Number 6, Lebron James's number. So right out the gate, there I was - Game One, in the middle of the arena, and I knew from the bottom of my Hoka's to the top of my mustache that Lebron and I shared the same energy. One of us is just a bit better from behind the arch.

That's neither here nor there....

Inviting You In

I want to invite you into something that was brought up in me this week.

So imagine with me for a moment, lights on full blast in a collegiate basketball arena. Five-on-five tournament-style basketball, three referees on the court, with one side of the stands nearly 1/8th of the way full.

It's a big deal.

It’s night one of the tournament, and we have two games.

Our team heads out to the far side to run a lay-up line. Which is freaking cool if you've never been part of one. At one end of the gym, there are two lines opposite each other, one line is putting the ball in the net, and the other is retrieving the ball. Whether you retrieve or lay the ball up, you both run back to the line and slap hands with your teammates. This is an excellent way to get that mamba mentality before game time. Click here if you are wondering what the mamba mentality is - a small tribute to one of the best.

Anyways, as we were out there on the court warming up, I found myself fighting the urge to look into the stands, unsure of what I'd see.

So I didn't.

But low and behold, lightning struck, the arena shook, and I drained one from behind the arch (it's still a warm-up), but I drained it.

Swish so loud, I am confident I heard it from where I shot.

Smiling ear to ear, I looked into the stands and began to scan.

For a brief moment, a deep pain welled up in me.

I was instantly teleported back to childhood. Where I was reminded of the many times I scanned the seats looking for someone in particular. Aching to see the face that, by this time in my life, I had grown certain would not make it.

This time was different, though.

Slowly, as I scanned, I caught a glimpse of those big sweet almond-shaped eyes peering at me through tortoise-rimmed glasses with a grin hanging under like a crescent moon.

Beside her, a good buddy of ours sat, who gave up his Monday evening to come and watch the Sunrise Rotary Ballers do work on the court.

Those two sat in a sea of faces from our larger Sunrise Rotary Club supporting our team. We were; they were the loudest crowd in the arena that evening.

There, in the midst of my brief wince of pain, as I scanned the crowd, I noticed many faces staring back at me, our team, and the court.

It was in that brief moment, right before a teammate snapped me back into reality because the game was about to start, that I was gently reminded by that still small voice - I see you. You can look longingly in the crowd for the one who wasn’t there, or you can continually be reminded of the ones that are.

On this night, I chose the latter.

The ones that were there. The ones smiling back. The ones that brought their kids, friends, and probably even neighbors. The ones that could have been anywhere else this Monday evening but chose to be there.

I am growing more and more convinced that in the face of another, we find love, are loved, and become more like love. I was reminded of this truth as I scanned the stands during my basketball debut this past week.

In that, may you be reminded of the sweet gift of being with and being be’d with.

A Haiku and a few questions too

It is in their face

I am given a great gift

Being seen, known, loved

Who in your life is sitting in the stands waiting to catch your eyes and say with a simple grin - I see you.

Who around you in the regular rhythms of life, do you notice could use that same look? Potentially even those three simple words?

On the flip side:

Where in your life do you find those little reminders that still cause you to wince in pain?

Are you sharing those with others?

As always - feel free to share. I’d love to read.

My hope this week for you, dear friend, is that you are encouraged towards others, even when it’s tough, even if your head feels like a beehive, or you are struggling to notice the faces in the crowd. May you be reminded that, in the faces of others, we are seen.

Thank you to the ones that noticed me this week, Dr. Draino, on the court during warm-up.

Thanks for being here; talk again soon!

Thanks for being you.

PS. The hoka’s held up fine. I had a really good time, and like my choice of #6, I named myself Dr. Draino, that in no way indicates the number of shots I drained.