Lost.
That grit your teeth, gut wrenching, growling into roaring, fist slamming into hardwood floor kind of feeling. And soon after, that stare off into space, sitting in a corner, slow, heavy, audible sighing of all the unused oxygen stored away in the secret crevices of my lung. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Wasted potential. Regret.
It's that feeling of losing. It hurts because you had the power to change the outcome. More preparation. More training. Run harder. Run faster. "If only I..."
The level of disappointment to any loss is directly proportional to the amount I have invested my heart into winning. Some would call it an idol. Others would call it fierce competition. But beyond the competition is the raw essence of motivation. What's the purpose? And will I still strive for that purpose even when there's no one around?
The real question is do I feel the same way in the harvest field? When I miss or "lose" someone as a worker do I sit back and simply remind myself that at least the harvest is plentiful? Or do I say to myself with the same intensity of regret, "If only I..." and jump right back into the field? Tossing and turning in bed. Every cell in my body crying out for a brother. Desperately interceding on behalf of a sister. Pleading for the prodigals. Crying for lost. Asking, seeking, knocking.
That tear is stored away somewhere in my eye. That prayer is tucked away somewhere in my lungs. That love is buried away somewhere in my heart. They all remember. I remember.
Lost but found.
Lost but found in him.
And all this from just one game of basketball.
That grit your teeth, gut wrenching, growling into roaring, fist slamming into hardwood floor kind of feeling. And soon after, that stare off into space, sitting in a corner, slow, heavy, audible sighing of all the unused oxygen stored away in the secret crevices of my lung. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Wasted potential. Regret.
It's that feeling of losing. It hurts because you had the power to change the outcome. More preparation. More training. Run harder. Run faster. "If only I..."
The level of disappointment to any loss is directly proportional to the amount I have invested my heart into winning. Some would call it an idol. Others would call it fierce competition. But beyond the competition is the raw essence of motivation. What's the purpose? And will I still strive for that purpose even when there's no one around?
The real question is do I feel the same way in the harvest field? When I miss or "lose" someone as a worker do I sit back and simply remind myself that at least the harvest is plentiful? Or do I say to myself with the same intensity of regret, "If only I..." and jump right back into the field? Tossing and turning in bed. Every cell in my body crying out for a brother. Desperately interceding on behalf of a sister. Pleading for the prodigals. Crying for lost. Asking, seeking, knocking.
That tear is stored away somewhere in my eye. That prayer is tucked away somewhere in my lungs. That love is buried away somewhere in my heart. They all remember. I remember.
Lost but found.
Lost but found in him.
And all this from just one game of basketball.
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