Last Saturday, while watching my six-year-old son play flag football…something amazing happened. First of all, you must know that we played him “up” because he is quite the athlete. (To his father’s credit) So my little guy is playing in the big league with 2nd and 3rd graders this fall. He is doing great! He is fast. He is catching balls a field’s length away. He is running in and out and around and down the field like a bolt of lightening that makes me go… “WOOOOOAAAAAAHHHHH!” Yeah. I’m kinda proud.
So as the game was unfolding into a heated challenge and the field was turning into a mini-battleground of little guys and girls facing off with a frenzied look of desperate lust for victory… this rather HUGE 3rd grader had the ball in hand running fast and furious down the field. He was on the other team. (I say this with utmost sarcasm, because quite frankly- I am for both teams always. I am the annoying mom that squeals with delight for a kid who runs a touchdown representing the other side. How can I not be so proud of him? Ridiculous. To. Me.)
This huge kid, I mean he has got to be about 6 feet tall weighing in at 237 pounds. Yes, this might be an exaggeration. But compared to my little skinny guy weighing in about 40 pounds plus a hair…the other boy is a GIANT to me. As he runs full force down the field, my miniature man goes flying toward him. The giant stumbles and ends up pummeling my baby head on with a nice steamroll slam. I do the mama thing: I hold my breath. I stare wide-eyed and terrified. I can’t see my little man because the giant is too big lying on top of him. In an instant, I panic. And the mama knee-jerk freak within sparks. And in that flashing second of trauma…a vision appears.
One skinny little arm shot out into the air straight toward the sky from underneath the rubble… holding the red flag!
From the impact and collision of this two hundred pound boy, my son had gone for and grabbed the flag. As he was being pummeled to the GROUND, my kid grabbed the flippin’ flag!!!
I believe the angels sang and the heavens opened that very instant.
Or at least they should have…
Because also at that moment, I saw the big picture, and although it was ALL about my son that day. It was becoming much more about me in seeing this scene play out.
Who here feels they are under a big pile of rubble? Who here feels small and weak? Who here sees the giant running right at you? Who here tackles that giant, risking the impact of heavy weight crashing down hard on you? Who here goes forward with confidence in knowing you can try to capture that flag even though the chances are pretty slim? Who here plays the game hard and gives it your all? Who is afraid of that giant in your life? Who can say that with all the pressures of life surrounding you… you still rise with the flag?
Don’t we all lie flat under the heavy rubble of life sometimes? Work weight. Family weight. Health weight. Marriage weight. Kids weight. My weight. Your weight. Any weight!
But I guess the challenge is to raise our flags…even under the weight of it all.
Who can claim their flag? Can you raise your red flag with an AMEN!?
Or are you still under the rubble hurting and weak? Been there.
My son had in his little 6-year-old mind, that he was going after that flag even if it meant he was going to get grounded by 237 pounds of flesh running 45 miles per hour at him. Wow.
I want some of that.
Oh come to me, sweet Victory!
What does your rubble look like these days?
Grab the FLAG!!!