By Brad Locke
April 22, 2005

(AgapePress) - I couldn't miss that summer. At the Louisiana Tech intramural center, I couldn't miss. At the campground in Mobile, Ala., where my family vacationed, I couldn't miss (won a free lunch, too). In Mr. Morgan's swimming pool, despite a floating, bobbing target, I couldn't miss.

Well, I didn't miss very often. That was the year, 1995, that I reached my athletic peak. I hadn't played organized basketball since ninth grade, but I was doing things on the court I'd never done before. Not that I was spectacular by any means, but I more than held my own in full-court pick-up games. I was headed for Covenant College the coming fall, and I had every intention of making the basketball team. My friends thought I could do it. I was convinced I could do it. Who knows if I actually would have, but I never got to find out.

On July 4, dunking on my buddy's 8-foot rim under a spotlight, I came down on a stray ball, my right foot turning inward at a full 90-degree angle. It was as close to being broken as it could be without being broken. It swelled up to twice normal size, and I was on crutches for six weeks. I got off them just before leaving for Chattanooga.

I tried out anyway, but I wasn't the same player. Barely got down the court. Couldn't shoot. I eventually played my way back into previous form (maybe even better form), and I assimilated myself into the program by becoming a team manager. But by the time coach Ken Brooks said to me, "We'll keep you in mind," I knew my chance was done. I had neither the grades nor the dough to return, and I harbored regret over my suffering for a long time.

That sort of suffering doesn't compare with what a lot of athletes endure. Ken Griffey, Jr. tearing a hamstring has become a rite of spring. Grant Hill has had so many ankle surgeries, when he goes to the hospital, the doctor asks him, "The usual?" Jim Kelly had to watch an opposing team celebrate a Super Bowl victory ... four times.

Physical and emotional suffering are expected in sports. Suffering isn't enjoyable, but nobody really complains about it, because they know the risk inherent in taking the field. I've never heard an athlete cry, "Why, God, why?" after breaking an arm or tearing an ACL. Pain is simply part of that culture.

So it's curious why so many people in this world take exception to affliction. A lost job, a broken relationship, an illness -- they all can cause bitterness and regret. It can lead one to question why God would allow this to happen.

What's forgotten is that suffering is just part of the deal. We live dangerous lives, more dangerous than we realize. When you run afoul of God's law, you're living dangerously, and we all do it. A sinful world is a violent world is a painful world. Expecting our lives to be comfortable and safe is as unrealistic as a hockey player expecting to never lose some teeth.

I heard a missionary say recently that safety is not a right. The world is full of suffering, and being a Christian does not shield you from that reality. In fact, it may expose you to it all the more, depending on what country you live in.

Comfort can be taken in the fact that there is a point to suffering. In sports, it teaches resilience. It reminds an athlete that success is rarely achieved without some dues being paid. In life, it teaches much the same, and more. It reminds us of our own human frailty and how much we depend on God to sustain us (Psalm 55:22). It reminds us how powerless we are and how powerful He is and how He is our great comforter (Psalm 119:76). It gives us a picture, writ small, of Christ's suffering, which ransomed His people from the place of eternal suffering. It gives us perspective on our present suffering, which, as Paul wrote in one of my favorite verses, can't compare with the glory that will be revealed to us (Romans 8:18).

I've come to believe that my misfortune 10 years ago came about because God didn't send me to Covenant College to play basketball. He sent me there to meet my wife. So, upon reflection -- and to borrow from Paul's line of thought in Romans -- my temporary pain couldn't compare to what I ultimately gained.

Thank God.