Larry, The Wise Racquetball Ghandi

       

             Sometimes you watch the Jeep who cut you off in traffic is the same one you watch get pulled over, and sometimes you get pulled over instead for retaliating when the Jeep cut you off. Sometimes you get cut from the basketball team when you watch the kid who cheated on the math test get a starting role on that team. Sometimes you hit the game winning home run, and the next day you strike out three plate appearances in a row. One day you sell $25 of lemonade and the next day you barely crack a dollar.

 

               And while we love to say “Life’s not fair!” as if it will immediately cure our sulky moods, we simultaneously suit up for another day of life’s up and downs, because as upsetting or joyous they can be, they are just as unpredictable too.

 

               I didn’t get pulled over recently, but me getting pulled over for getting cut off took shape on the racquetball court back in April 2026. Although it would be neat to drive around like a maniac on a racquetball court, that’s not how it went. It involved life not being fair and me throwing a gigantic fit about it. You know how it goes: you throw a fit, embarrass yourself and possibly burn some bridges in the middle of your tantrum, then realize it isn’t remotely as big of a deal as you thought after you’ve had a full-scale meltdown.

 

                Have you ever played racquetball? All you need is a racquet, a blue rubber ball, and glasses to protect your eyes. A glove for the hand you use to put your racquet in is optional. Let me spare you the detailed rules and put it this way: try to hit the ball towards the front wall with your racquet in a way that prevents the opponent from returning the shot before it bounces twice.

 

                Regardless of whether or not any of that made sense, I’m sure you can relate to doing something that is designed to be fun, but turns into a day you wish you could do over the second you think about it. If you’re like me and think you should be able to crush everyone in the sport because you play 3 times a month for less than a year, you have to work extra hard to not take a humbling loss personally.

 

                At this point, it would be best to introduce Larry, a fitness nut who, let’s just put it politely, doesn’t move on the court the way his age suggests; and without revealing his age directly, his kids are around my age. Yes, Larry is much older than me but moves on the court like he’s younger than me – and it’s frustrating. I should add that he’s on my wife’s side of the family, but in a lot of ways, he’s like a father figure to me. Don’t get me wrong, my own father far exceeds the average father, so I don’t need an extra father figure in my life because I need an exceptional father. However, it’s nice to know God blessed me with numerous father figures in my life that I am not related to by blood, and Larry is one of them.

 

            Back to racquetball: he pulls off shots that can only be successfully executed if you’re retired, play games against semi-pros, and don’t mind getting absolutely decimated by better players with the sole purpose of learning from them to get better.

 

            In summary, I just described Larry and a big reason he demolishes me every Saturday morning for two hours.

 

            He doesn’t complain, pound his racquet against the wall, and throw tantrums like I do, yet he’s the one who should be getting angry when he messes up because he’s put in far more work than me. Yet, he’s a calm as a cucumber with its sunglasses on. If I could read his mind, he would probably be thinking, onto the next shot, and that’s where his mind goes because he plays just like it.

 

            When I learn from him, it’s less about racquetball and more about composure and not letting the humility that comes with losing the point turn into embarrassment from how you respond to the humbling moment. Don’t get me wrong, he also teaches me techniques, strategies, and location of shots, but I learn the most about behavior on the court based on how he plays.

 

            Larry once told me that the best racquetball players he’s played against “never think they’ve got it all figured out. They believe they could always get better, and they are constantly learning.”

 

            Whether it is intentional or not, Larry is speaking straight from Scripture, which has a lot to say about being humble and learning no matter where you’re at in life:

Instruct the wise and they will be wiser still; teach the righteous and they will add to their learning.

                                                            Proverbs 9:9 (NIV)

            What I believe this verse is saying is simple: Wise people are coachable; righteous people never stop learning.

 

            But to learn, you need an attitude that matches it. I have discovered the hard way that my antics on the court do not give me the opportunity to learn – you can’t learn when you let your emotions carry your head to another place of personal offense.

 

             In fact, the times I get close to beating Larry, or experience the rare opportunity to beat him, my approach to each point is what helps me execute and finish strong. In one of our racquetball meetings, Larry told me, mid-game, “I can tell you play better when you don’t think about the last shot. You slow the game down and let it come to you. I can tell it helps you stay in the game.”

 

            Being coachable and humble slows the game down because you take time to learn from every shot, good or bad. The shots I refer to are not just exclusive to the court. At work, when I get caught up in the to-do list and having to rush through all of it, I can tell I get impatient with my students. When I breathe, take time to learn from my day, and rest – slowing things down – I approach my students with more grace, energy, and love.

            Don’t stop learning and growing. Don’t let the speed of life discourage you – instead, listen, add to your learning, and develop wisdom along the way. Larry has taught me a lot – not just through pickleball. I hope I use each opportunity I have with him to learn from his own experiences and how he approaches life.

 

            I also hope God has given you or gives you someone to learn from, because he has a funny way of bringing these people into your life.

 

            When they do step into your life, be glad they did: it is often God’s way of saying you need to learn a few things.

More Than a Child's Play Thing?

 Have you ever been confronted by another human who tried so hard to convince you that you are not a space ranger? That you’re just a human? Maybe not, but there is a lot more in common with you and Buzz than you think.

Toy Story has a lot of aspects that I love about it, number one being that the concept of toys being living things when the humans are not present is such a classic idea for any sort of film. It is also one my entire childhood identifies with: I played with all of my toys like they were educated, English-speaking humans who lived their daily lives the way humans do.

 

Sometimes, my sister and I played with Barbies and Hot Wheels cars/Legos the exact same way Toy Story portrayed the relationship between living toys and the human race. She would play with the Barbies like they were real human beings, and I would use my Lego collection to pretend they came to life when no one was looking and use the cars as their transportation.

 

Mostly, though, we didn’t incorporate the toys becoming fake again when humans were around, but we did give our Beanie Babies, bead lizards, Hot Wheels Cars, stuffed animals, even Kohl’s models we’d cut out of catalogues lives, personalities, jobs, hobbies, and adventures they’d go on every free moment we had to play with them. It was what our childhood imaginations gave us when video games, television, and Rollercoaster Tycoon on the PC were only limited to 30 minutes a day. God bless my parents for helping us develop such strange, yet creative imaginations.

 

For example, my little sister and I pretended the staircase leading from the second floor to the main floor was a gigantic waterfall only comparable to Multnomah Falls directly south of Seattle (which I’d recommend for anyone who loves hiking, amazing views, and/or waterfalls). While the fake waterfall did what real waterfalls do, our Beanie Babies, for reasons unknown to this day, were all trapped on the edges of that waterfall, and the only way they would survive is to make it to the top of the stairs.

 

To make matters more interesting, each step filled with our favorite Beanie Babies were backstories and pieces of information pulled directly from our brains about each Beanie Baby. Information about how they got there, their level of motivation to make it to the top, and how willing they were to help the others out were shared with great energy, enthusiasm, and detail. If you’re thinking we wouldn’t last 20 minutes until we got bored, you’re wrong. We would take a break for dinner, but if anyone messed with our setup, we would excommunicate them from our lives.

 

The second thing I love about Toy Story is the depth the director goes into with character development. The older I get, and the more I watch it, the deeper I go into the minds of Buzz, Woody, and any toy that has a more than three lines in the movie. For example, the average viewer would say Woody is jealous of Buzz being so much better than him and all of the other toys. But the reason Woody is jealous is only revealed to the audience member who strategically performs an exegesis on the movie and the main characters. I guess you could do an exegesis on Mr. Potato Head, but it might be more difficult than, say, Buzz or Woody. My theory is Woody is jealous of Buzz or any other modern toy replacing Woody, which means Woody has some abandonment issues that a therapist needs to take him through – especially considering that literally every toy (even Bo Peep) loves the addition of Buzz except for Woody.

 

Recently, I watched Toy Story with my 5^th grade class and there is scene that stood out to me among the rest – to me, this is representative of what makes Toy Story so special: the more you watch and rewatch the film, the more that is revealed to you. To set the scene, Woody and Buzz are trapped in Sid’s room, and Sid is still asleep. Either Sid is missing school again or it’s Saturday, but since Andy is also home and it’s right before the big move, I lean towards it being Saturday. Buzz is strapped to “The Big One,” the firework that Sid planned on blowing Buzz to smithereens with the day before but the weather postponed the event. Woody was about to be the one who is strapped to the firework right before the rain delayed Sid’s plan, but he makes it to a blue milk crate in time to hide while Buzz, depressed from learning he is not just a toy, but a toy that can’t fly, receives his rocket fate without fighting it. In fact, Sid is right about to head out to the backyard to follow through with the plan until rain comes pouring down. Sid winds up his alarm clock and goes to sleep, which gives Woody time to give Buzz a pep talk that eventually snaps him out of his depressed funk and leaps him, rocket strapped to his back and all, into action:

Buzz: No Woody, for the first time I am thinking clearly. You were right all along. I'm not a Space Ranger, I'm just a toy, a stupid little insignificant toy.
Woody: Whoa, wait a minute. Being a toy is a lot better than being a "Space Ranger."
Buzz: Yeah, right.
Woody: No, it is. Look, over in that house is a kid who thinks you're the greatest, and it's not because you're a Space Ranger, it's because you're a toy. You are his toy.
Buzz: But why would Andy want me?
Woody: Why would Andy want you?! Look at you! You're a Buzz Lightyear! Any other toy would give up its moving parts just to be you! You've got wings! You glow in the dark! You talk! Your helmet does that, that, that whoosh thing! You are a cool toy! As a matter of fact, you're too cool. 

When I watched this scene with Buzz and Woody, and I take out the fact that Woody spends a majority of this film acting petty, insecure, and constantly compares himself to a toy out of his league, these lines sound a lot like me talking to Jesus trying to convince him I’m just some stupid, insignificant person who can’t shock the world with my amazingness. Then Jesus responds by redirecting my thoughts to believe in what is true.

I’ve spent a majority of my life playing the role of both characters, Buzz and Woody. Not because I think I landed on Sector 12 instead of Earth, or I think I can fly, or I have a string attached to my back that says, “There’s a snake in my boot” when pulled. I have shared the same mindset as Woody, who lost sight of himself when a shiny, new toy with better gadgets and lights shows up on the bed; he even admits it at the end of the scene mentioned above:

“As a matter of fact, you're too cool. I mean, what chance does a toy like me have against a Buzz Lightyear action figure? …Why would Andy ever want to play with me, when he's got you? I'm the one that should be strapped to that rocket.”

 

When I’m not Woody, I am Buzz refusing to accept who he really is because he has been programmed to believe he’s something he is not. Does Buzz have control over it? That’s for another blog; however, like Buzz, I am blinded by lies. I believe what makes Toy Story 1 a masterpiece is that these two toys with incredible strengths and weaknesses are bonded together over time, but they both are so relatable to how I behave when I wander from the truth about how God sees me.

 

The ultimate point is this: even if I am a space ranger, that’s not what makes me amazing. Andy doesn’t love Buzz because he acts like a space ranger, it’s because he’s a cool toy. God doesn’t love me because I’m a teacher, and he doesn’t love you because of your occupation. He loves you because he thought of you when he made you. He loves you because he put time into designing you just the way you are.

 

Furthermore, just because a space ranger shows up in my life, doesn’t mean I am less loved by God. Often, I do this with people who God has allowed me to cross paths with in my lifetime: I’m less awesome because Blake owns a Tesla and I don’t. I’m less distinguished as a teacher because my fifth grade team is all caught up on grades but I’m not. I am not a good father because my wife knows what  to feed him and I still don’t. Lies. Just like Woody believing he’s being replaced because he doesn’t have a laser pointer on his wrist, wings that pop out of his back, and a space helmet that covers his face at the push of a button, among the many other buttons.

 

Woody or Buzz,  I am just like both, whether I am refusing to accept my true identity, even if it is much better than being a Space Ranger, or I am busy comparing my existence to someone completely unrelated and worrying about being replaced. Either way, both mindsets are built on a foundation of lies, causing me to stray far from the truth I should just staple to my forehead at this point:

Psalm 139:14: “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

 

If I am pointing fingers at anyone, it’s me. I spend so much time crafting the perfect classroom – when one piece gets ruined, or my day doesn’t match my vision when I created the lesson plans for the week, I throw a tantrum similar to the one Woody has when they are stuck at the Dinoco gas station under the large semi-truck:

 

Woody: “This is the perfect time to panic! I’m lost, Andy is gone, they’re going to move from their house in two days and it’s all your fault!”

 

After Buzz tries to deflect blame back to Woody, Woody refuses to accept any responsibility and accountability for his own flawed belief:

 

Woody: “Oh yeah? Well, if you hadn’t shown up in your stupid little cardboard spaceship and taken away everything that was important to me –”

 

The path of lies Woody chooses to walk down causes him to isolate himself from a partnership with Buzz, who could ultimately help get them back to Andy. This same path also convinces Woody that thinking logically is out of the question and relying on blame to ease his mind is the only solution – in fact, it’s the reason the movie is over 1 hour long!

 

Imagine how the conversation goes if Woody let the Scriptures guide him:

Woody: “While I do feel sad and upset that I am separated from Andy, I trust Buzz and I can work together to get back to my owner. In fact, I could use this opportunity to form a bond with Buzz that will hopefully allow us to get back to Andy and even coexist in the same bedroom!”

 

Of course, then the movie would end 30 minutes into the film, but it’s a good reminder of how much drama I let into my own life when I forget my roots in Christ.

 

To be fully invested in what Christ thinks of me – to wrap myself tightly around the truth of how God sees me – is to remove any distractions from a life well lived. God’s truth empowers us, because when we are empowered, we step out in faith to look like Jesus in the midst of obstacles that come our way. The truth calms us when the pressure of the world around us feels to immense, and it grounds us when the lies feel too similar to the truth.

 

There’s no better way to conclude than to bring to the light one of the steadiest Toy Story characters in the film, Bo Peep:

“I know Andy’s excited about Buzz. But you know he’ll always have a special place for you.”

God is overjoyed when people live in his truth about them, but he always has a special place for you – after all, unlike Andy, he made all of creation, which includes you. Of course he has a special place for you, and you are irreplaceable.

The Race Set Before You

 

When you let someone or something cut in on your spiritual race, you run into a dead end - no prize will meet you at a dead end

Ask my parents to summarize my Chelsea High School Cross Country experience, and they will probably use words like “Shin Splints,” “Stairmaster,” and “Bath Invitational.” You might be asking, “What does Bath Invitational have to do with your experience in high school?” Bath Invitational was a Saturday tournament 58 minutes from my high school home, and I wouldn’t know how long it took to get there from the high school because I slept in that morning and missed the bus. See, the way it was supposed to go was my parents were going to drop me off at the high school so the bus would take me and my team to the event, but when your mind has already been made up about how much you hate running, your body follows suit in agreeing that sleeping in was the far better choice.

 

My parents would likely tease when they use those words because my attitude was always less than pleasant when it came to running. Shin splints was my number one excuse, and I would strategically bring it up to my coach after finding out we were running 8 miles in the humid weather, on dirt roads, nose deep in cow manure smells, and at an impossible pace that messed with your mind when you ran. I swear any sign I am crazy came from running cross country for two years and my coach yelling out his “Pain Is My Friend” mantra to motivate us.

 

Well, I was never motivated in high school.

 

So, I acted like my shin splints were worse than they really were, became closely acquainted with the Stairmaster to get out of running, and slept in through the ungodly early weekend tournaments against superior high schools.

 

Fast forward more than 20 years later, and it’s 2023. I just wrapped up my first 10k with a pace of around 9 minutes and 30 seconds, and I suddenly wish I didn’t use shin splints as an excuse. I also wish I didn’t quit Cross Country after 2 years.

 

This is what happens when you don’t allow yourself to see the good that God is producing through the pain. A lot like my experiences with Cross Country, Paul did the same in Scripture – he used running as a metaphor in our spiritual journey.

 

In Galatia, the church was being pulled in the wrong direction by false teaching – Galatians 1:7 says, “Evidently some people are throwing you into confusion and are trying to pervert the Gospel of Christ.”

 

When it came to the church, they were letting false doctrine cut them off from “running a good race,” according to Paul. This race is the closest metaphor for walking in step with the Truth of the Gospel and not letting shin splints and sleeping in deter you from walking boldly in the direction of the Gospel of Truth.

 

Currently, I am training for the next 10k, and whenever I make the bold decision to not let the next excuse distract me from doing what I set out to do, my mind inevitably drifts to wishing I stuck with cross country and even running after high school concluded. In my late 30s, I discovered I have “Runner’s Knee,” the unscientific way of saying I have arthritic knees. Training now means I have to use arthritis cream for both knees to reduce inflammation. Without slathering Voltaren on each knee before my runs, I can’t make it past ¾ of a mile before Runner’s Knee shows up and I feel the intense pain that makes me have to stop. I don’t regret needing the cream to train, but it does make me sad that I didn’t spend more time entering races and training for them when I didn’t have to use CopperFit compression sleeves, an inhaler for asthma, and the Runner’s Knee ointment.

 

Spiritually, I also find myself drifting to spiritual laziness from time to time, and when I want to start back up, I feel like it sometimes takes more work to get back into it. Don’t underestimate the power of spiritual momentum, because often the words God gives you in yesterday’s devotionals will apply to tomorrow, as often is the case with running and exercising. The times I train by running 4 miles will eventually help me run 6 miles races more smoothly.

 

Don’t let shin splints take you out of the race. We live in a world that is cloaked with distractions that feel better in the moment than running the race. Is it fun to wake up at 6am to prepare for a 3-mile run on the weekend? No, and I don’t think Paul and Jesus said that it would be.

 

They also did not say that’s why we do the running. We don’t run because it is always fun, but we run the race “so that we may obtain [the prize]” (1 Corinthians 9:24). The eternal prize is a life devoted to Christ, a life lived with purpose.

 

With running comes purpose, and when that purpose is directed to Christ, it is a life that follows his will. When the shin splints of life try to steer us away from running with Jesus – staying on the couch instead of getting out there – we let the world prevent us from running towards the eternal prize. We quit running before we even start.

 

The voices you hear that tell you to stop running, postpone it, or question why you do it are not of God. They are designed to derail your devotion to God’s will and direction in your life. Continue running, even when it is hard and the comfort of your couch feels better.