Football and the Mortification of the Flesh

For those of you who love competitive sports go ahead and do something else. I am absolutely sure that you will not be able to identify with this post....

Ty started football last night. He walked onto the field knowing not one person. But he didn't care, he was there to play football. He listened hard, worked hard and showed his stuff. He ran fast, faster than anyone else almost. He made one friend, but he doesn't know his name. He had fun.

I can't understand it. Standing around waiting to be evaluated. Not knowing anyone. Afraid of making a mistake. I'm sick just thinking of it. Ginger's with me... right, friend? Yuck.

Some people like competing. Some don't. That's just the way it is. I finally left the ball park. Strangely, I'm not afraid of him getting hurt. He probably will, it'll heal. It's the competition. Or rather, the fear of failure...

Hmmm. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. Maybe that's the root of my nervousness about the Springville Church. My pride is a living, breathing monster. Hiding in the shadows of my existence, whispering in my ear, breathing down my neck. Much of the time, I'm not even aware of it's presence.

All that I can do is repent and let God banish my pride. Repentance and faith are my only weapons. And they are hard to wield against my self. I want to pretend it's not there. I want to justify it's existence. I want to save myself. But I must put it to death. I must mortify it. I must stand in my freedom and not back down.

That is where my boldness comes from... not my skill at making friends or my compulsion to talk to everyone. Boldness comes from the gospel. Boldness comes from not trying to accomplish things on my own. Not taking ownership of God's work. Knowing that in Christ there is no rejection, failure and condemnation.

Why can't I remember that?