Facing our own Giants

When I threw out the notion to the regional commander of the local prisons system that we have a football club and would love to play some of his prisoners sometime, I really did not expect anything to come to fruition. However, before I knew what was happening we were scheduled to play against them. It all came together so easily, I figured it must have God's hands all over it, so in spite of some legitimate fears, we moved forward with the game.

Our teenage football team consists of boys, who are not much larger than my 10-year-old son. They are thin, but wiry and agile. They are small in stature, but we've found them to have enormous, strong hearts. When we told these boys we'd be going to the prison to play, nobody was excited. Their big, beautiful eyes got even bigger, as they began to share fears of being beaten up, stabbed, or seriously injured. My husband got a kick out of playing up these fears, and when we showed up at the prison gates yesterday he announced to our team we had not come to play, but in fact, were participating in an exchange program; we were exchanging our players for theirs. The joke went a long way in breaking up the nervous tension, but when they opened the gates and we got a closer look at our opponents, my nerves began hopping. These were not boys. These were men and they were the biggest Basotho any of us had ever seen. I will never forget our boys sizing up these men as they walked by. They all had a solemn look of, "We're going to die today," on their faces. I asked one of our players, "None of these guys have actually killed anybody have they?" He whispered, "So many of them have." GREAT!

True to our boys' character, they dug deep, suited up, and took the field standing opposite giants. On one side of the field stood thin legged boys with their knees literally knocking. On the other stood thick, tall, muscular, tattooed, hardened criminals. The contrast was enormous. I told myself no matter if we lost 10-0, or if our boys went running for their lives in the next five minutes, I was so proud of them for just taking the field against these enormous men.

Our boys fought tenaciously and I began to relax a bit. They were holding their own, but by half-time we were behind 3-0. As I was passing out water to our exhausted players I listened to Richard's pep talk. He said, "I cannot begin to tell you how absolutely...." I jerked my head up, ready to jump in to protect my boys from anything harsh my husband might have to say to them about their performances. I could see the fear in their faces as well, so when Richard went on to say, "There is no way to tell you how completely proud I am of you guys. These are men. They are dads. They shave at night, and you are in there fighting your hearts out," the shock and relief among us all brought me to tears.

He went on to explain they had to start getting rid of the ball faster against these big guys. When they went back in the second half they were no longer scared little boys. They were young men, who believed in themselves because somebody else believed in them. By the end of the game our small, humble, team not only made up the deficit, but came out on top 4-3. They won the hearts and respect of the spectators who'd gathered, as well as their opponents. The prisoners were cheering for our boys by the end, and asking Richard how they could join our team.

It was truly a story of David vs. Goliath, and I have no doubt God was at work on that soccer field yesterday. It was about so much more than winning a game. It was about the miracle of love. The beauty of family, and how what the world would call impossible or ridiculous can be attained when you have a boldness of faith to just take the field. I know I will face many times in the future when I will have to have bold faith. I am quite sure I will always recall the way these 11, precious boys looked facing those giants yesterday. When that time comes I pray I have at least half the courage they exhibit daily.