I’ve never been much for competition either. I don’t like the whole “stone in the stomach” feeling, either for myself or for anyone else. And that’s what I felt last night. Alicia was ready. She prepared. She had done that routine countless times and nailed it countless times. And her mount on the beam was no easy feat! (No pun intended!) It’s not natural to hit a board, spring into the air, somersault and land solid on a 4” wide beam. She paced and was forced to wait for much too long before her trial came. Her team was praying. Her team was counting on her score. Gold was attainable. In fact, it was probable.
One fall. That’s all it took. And it simply snowballed from there. I watched her finish her routine with a stone-faced look of resolve. She had trouble lifting her eyes to look in the faces of her team and audience. I saw her kneel, hands in a praying position. Don’t know if she was praying as much as she was regretting. She had one more event and she was encouraged to “forget it” and move to the next one.
Another event. Another fall. A huge step out of bounds.
You could visibly see the shame taking its ground in her countenance. The heaviness of it looked unbearable to me. I wondered at her composure. My heart broke for her. Oddly, my empathy wasn’t really because of her “failure”. I certainly know what it means to fail. I certainly know the feeling of public humiliation. I’m no stranger to public shame and self-condemnation.
No, what struck me with sadness was that she didn’t have permission to celebrate. Something wonderful happened last night. The US Women’s Gymnastics Team won a Silver Medal. Alicia one a silver medal. And deservedly. Alicia just had a bad day yesterday. And on her bad day, she received a silver reward.
I’m not an unusually profound person. But I thought of a scripture at the end of China’s celebration, and by the way, those little girls were astounding! Silvr and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee. I thought Alicia could enjoy this night if she could, in this very moment - right now, receive what only One has to offer: grace. Like the wrap put tightly on her leg for added support, grace would wrap her heart and hold her. It doesn’t really help to say “shake it off, forget about it, you can’t change it anyway, move on”. I’ve heard all those before. Haven’t you? And were you able? I‘m really not. The more I try to forget, the more I stress over it. The more I try to rationalize and convince myself that the unchangeable is in the past, the more I focus on “what ifs” and the bigger the tizzy I get into. The more I try to move on, the more my engine stalls. No, willing a frame of mind just doesn’t seem to do it.
But grace… grace says, “accept it.” It says, “hold this moment in your heart even though it hurts.” And most importantly, grace says, “Now, this is the truth; yes, that happened, but YOU are what I cherish! YOU are valuable! More valuable than gold and more valuable than the silver that hangs around your neck. YOU are loved and known and fully received, not your performance. Grace says, “maybe next time, maybe not; either way, I love you.”
I thought about my “Alicia moments” last night. I recalled those nights where I could only focus on the gold that was lost. Though the grace was offered, I couldn’t open my hands to receive it. The shame seemed more appropriate, I guess. It’s our just reward for poor performance’ especially when our poor performance plays out in a public forum.
But now, as I look back at huge failures that have finally felt the deep-heat rub of God’s grace, I’m able to humbly accept them as part of my own eternal Olympic experience. They don’t have even the wince of shame anymore. They are what they are, and I still hold the silver from them. There’s a hard-earned reward that comes with failures finally owned. Don’t hear much from the silver medal winners. Not a whole lot of boasting goin’ on with them. Maybe it’s the bitter-sweetness of winning in the losing.
Makes me want to open my hands though. Open my hands and receive the grace of God for this day and the quiet little failures no one “ooooohhhhhed” over. The private races where I’ve come short of the gold. The private races where really, truth be known, I didn’t medal at all. I’m thrilled that God isn’t counting the medals around my neck. He’s more apt to count the scrapes and scars on my knees. It’s a comfort to a beloved stumbling eternal Olympian.
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