life's a bench

In the span of a regular day, I come across a number of everyday objects. Most of the things that occupy my vision are passerby’s- normal and insignificant. However, some things I come across have the uncanny ability to remind me of a loved one. For example, anytime I look at the clock and notice it’s 6:11 I think of my sister. June 11^th is her birthday. I can’t go to a MAC counter without thinking of Emily Love. I will forever associate David’s sunflower seeds with Julie Watt and think of Jessie Connell every time I hear a Jimmy Buffett song.

These days, whenever I see a bench of some kind, I think of me. My story. My life. Without sounding too much like Princess Kristin whom only thinks and cares of herself, I’d say the bench of life has a semi-permanent imprint of my own bottom.

When I played volleyball at ASU I saw a lot of the bench. Following a couple years of inconsistent playing time, I found myself twenty years old, dressed up on Halloween night as a hospital patient, being rolled out of my back surgery. After a rigorous blur of physical therapy, a new mastered art of keeping score in practice, and some haunting scares of re-injury I was back on the court and ready to rock. Four days into my new season I dove for a ball and popped my shoulder out of its socket. Torn Labrum. More blur. More scorekeeping.

 My anticipated second return to the court was greeted by a perpendicular broken thumb- the result of blocking my teammate’s monster hit with one single finger. I remember the sobs that day. Not because I was drenched in pain from my thumb deciding to take a left turn, but because I didn’t think I could return once again to the bench. The place that felt so regrettably familiar; so eerily home-like.

Here’s the thing about the bench… you wait. You wait and you wait and you wait.

Despite feeling helpless and completely invisible, the bench, in all its cruel familiarity, began to teach me things. 

-The bench forced me to process my thoughts at a tenderly sluggish rate; slowing down MY life, MY ambitions, MY perfect timing. The bench was not about me.

-The bench allowed me to celebrate the little things. Like sitting at a 90 degree angle, getting to run, my first game dressed in full uniform, and finally lifting my shoulder high enough to shave my under arm! (seriously- it gets a little sketchy after a couple months- just sayin)

-The bench opened my eyes to my fellow benchwarmers; those involuntary castaways that had real lives, real problems, and real hurt from enduring their own season of wait.

-The bench made weakness beautiful for the first time. It created freedom out of words like surrender, yield, submission. My strength no longer only depended on how far I, myself, could go. However lonely, the bench made me realize… I’m not alone.

So maybe you find yourself on the bench. You’re waiting on a guy, a job, a loan, a baby, a sign, or maybe even on God himself. Here’s what I would say to you… Relish in this wait. Lean back on the bench. Sit in silence. Pray. Listen. And wait some more. Even though the swirling action and speed of a life in constant motion looks attractive, God is found on the bench. For it is here that we can sit still long enough for him to prune, refine and perfect- making us look a lot more like him.

<3

Isaiah 40:31 says:

But they who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.”