Underdogs and tears, the One who perseveres (and redeems.)

For much of my growing up, I heard I was too sensitive, that I needed to get tougher and that even though I cared, sometimes it seemed as if I cared too much. I had so many emotions, in my teenage years, I am sure my parents and siblings felt like they were pretty consistently on a roller coaster. It was much later that I realized that it wasn’t just me, but actually a normal developmental stage for pre-teen and teen girls. I felt my excitement big, my fear bigger, had anxiety that stopped me in my tracks and sadness when others struggled. I am fairly certain that God was, all the while, shaping my sense of empathy; I just needed to grow up a bit in order to understand it.

While I would not change a thing as I look back on my life, at the time I felt like a little kid who did not have a clue how to manage feelings and certainly did not know about both/and. My parents are AVID Olympic fans, something they’ve definitely passed on (ice skating for me, my mom and sister – we all screech like owls while we watch, holding our breath and hoping that the leading US skater would land their axels, spins and salchows.) I still watch the Olympics like it is my job, staying up way too late, cheering and following the inspiring back stories of the elite athletes who make it ALL look so easy.

But even though we watched as a family and talked about the Olympics all the time, I couldn’t make sense the overwhelming awe, often times, sadness and something else it took me years to understand or begin to explain, even to myself: jealousy. I learned in time that there was a tangled knot of emotions, the beautiful and the hard. That’s how all of our experiences are though, as far as I can tell…the both/and in all of life.

When our kids were young, showing interest in new things, I was simply amazed at the way their bodies functioned, with ease, strength and the “normal” that I longed for. Our oldest tried ballet, tumbling and Girl Scouts.

One day I arrived to pick her up and found her troupe playing duck, duck goose to finish the days meeting. I watched, observing the fun of the chase. My experiences had been so different than this, the fear of getting picked because I must be a slow, deliberate runner; fear of tripping, get extremely embarrassed. But I was even more fearful of being “the goose” until I was age 20 because I couldn’t catch “the duck.”

Suddenly a sweet little girl got picked, “Goose!” She let out a breathy giggle as she stood up and threw her head back with laughter as she started chasing. Her long brown hair fell past her shoulders and her excitement at getting chosen simply stunned me.

I took a breath and felt my heart slam in my chest like a timpani drum, for just a few seconds. Along with her irrepressible smile, she ran while wearing medical equipment that was her lifeline, in a backpack. She had a somewhat familiar gait and a sense of wonder I had not encountered at that point in my life. Her mom helped but didn’t hover and little did I know then, the biggest cheerleaders in the duck and goose circle were her sisters, quadruplets.

Tears filled my eyes as the group cheered her on, yelling and encouraging, her giggle and joy nearly filling and bursting that whole room. I will never forget that first time seeing sweet Keyan and how she and her dear family teach me still about acceptance, sacrifice, family and joy. From what I know of her, she had no idea she was born an underdog in so many ways, but really, was anything but.

It’s happened many times over the course of our family life, tears filling my eyes as a teammate or another person “succeeds ” or a news story about someone hospitalized for an extended period, the staff clapping as they “graduate”; scrolling on my phone when a kid or adult who struggles in some way, only to reach the end of a race or goal and finish well, full of pride. My friend’s wheelchair rugby games or watching the elementary kid who participates in a running fundraiser while in a cast. If you have a minute, look up Rick and Dick Hoyt on YouTube…you will get the idea….

My family is not surprised to see me shed a few tears also as we watch different genres of tv, reality shows, athletics events or really, anything with a compelling story. But there are few shows that evoke tears quicker than I can wipe them away, my favorite being American Ninja Warrior.

Have you ever watched the discipline and athleticism with awe? Me too…. But I need to confess, I watch any and all sporting events that same way. Every single athlete who walks out on a field, braves getting across a wet pool deck, balances on starting blocks or diving boards, runs across a shiny gym floor or pole vaults in front of packed stands has in my mind, won a gold medal just for “doing.”

I unbashedly live vicariously through my kids events and events of their friends, not asking them to participate “for me,” but simply watching and soaking in every thing, as if I could somehow feel some tiny bit of team if I pay close enough attention. And the truth is, they ARE the definition of success to me, even before they start to play. For those who can’t even think about even the simplest part of being a part of a team for many different reasons, it is all a wonder, every single part. I really don’t have any frame of reference for how they accomplish so many different things…

Maybe that is why, in every story on ANW, I find inspiration. It is incredible to me, the dedication, strength and control. But it is also the the athletes who defy the odds, who fight their way through both literal and sometimes internal obstacles, who never fail to illicit the “good tears.” I love the achievements, especially when I know how much effort the little things take for so many people, not just as athletes. For some, dedication and strength is finding a way to get out of bed. The kid on the swim team, finishing the race after every other athlete, but does not give up and still finishes. The student who raises their hand in class as anxiety swirls and their stomach clenches because they just became the center of attention. Or the student who reports abuse at the hands of a family member, despite the waves of shock and conflict sure to ensue in the aftermath. Yes, the good and hard tears, most certainly….

I read a story recently in one of the Disney groups I follow, that if I can paraphrase, went a bit like this: A single mom who battles extreme anxiety and claustrophobia, saved for about a year to take her kids to Disney World, even though the idea of close quarters on the rides was utterly terrifying to her. She “didn’t want them to miss out because of her.” She got on a ride and began to experience a severe panic attack before the ride even began. She hastily got off and a cast member quickly made her way to her side. The cast member let her sit in an unused ride vehicle, then went on the ride with her, pointing out exits and “Easter eggs.” (details hidden throughout the ride to broaden the story and sometimes pay homage to designers.) The mom couldn’t stop crying as she made it all the way through the ride. So much bravery and strength. (Yes, I cried a bit, reading that story.)

In 2019, Kodi Lee made his way across the audition stage on America’s Got Talent, his mom next to him. He walked with a cane and his mom was beaming and steadfast. She described his early diagnoses, blindness and autism. She described him as “an entertainer,” how music saved his life…but silence after the introductions was palpable. There was a long pause, then Kodi began to sing, “A Song for You.” The judges and crowd were mesmerized, and I cried for both the struggle and the victory as the young man born with “differences” sang his heart out to thunderous applause. The judges and audience were also crying as he was given the coveted Golden Buzzer. I kept thinking, so well deserved, and likely so rare he would be celebrated, like this. (Spoiler…he went on to WIN that season, changing the minds and hearts of millions related to ability and talent. Videos from his performances are reported to be the “most watched in AGT history.” He plays nightly in Vegas. For a boy who could “barely string together words,” this is the underdog story…)

I am drawn to the underdog/ success stories in everything from March Madness to movies to real life; the grit, perseverance and the beauty wrapped up together. As I have spent time writing this piece and thinking through what it is that I want to convey, a realization hit me: as much as I love the image of conquering big battles and hard-fought victories, there is something else that I am drawn to as well. One of my favorite words is redeemed. Dictionary.com defines it this way: an act of redeeming or atoning for a fault or mistake, or the state of being redeemed. deliverance; rescue.

Redemption and having audacious hope is what I love most about the God of Heaven, Jesus and this story – perseverance, passion, rescue and love for all, including all of us underdogs. It is a redemption story like none other, both victory and redemption we absolutely cannot wrap our minds around. And this is the truth that always brings me to tears. I am undone at the reality that Jesus died for me, (for all of us) when he did not have to, not for a second. God himself says that the last here on earth will be first in heaven. I can’t even fathom the beauty in that…or the fact that though I deserve, “underdog status,” God promises the biggest victory.

Until then, I don’t want to stop crying the happy tears, cheering with my whole heart and yearning for redemption of all things. I never want to lose the awe in all things. I want to celebrate movement, trying and trying again. I want to feel hope, wonder and take nothing for granted. And I always want to be thankful to the one whose heart, sacrifice and love is so much more than I could ever imagine. May we love well, those who feel unlovable, may we see those who feel invisible and may we love extravagantly like you do, Jesus, always.

Both/And

Psalm 13