“Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.” James 1:12
I recently listened to the Blind Landing podcast. If you’re not familiar, it is a 5-episode podcast that explores the 2000 summer Olympic games, specifically that of the women’s gymnastics vault in the “all around” competition. Now, as far as podcasts go, I would give it the grade of solid “C”. The narration isn’t super engaging and the production level is adequate but not in any way memorable. In my opinion, the story could have been told in one 90-minute episode instead of five 25-30 minute installments. Having said that, the subject matter of the 2000 summer Olympic women’s gymnastics vault in the “all around” competition itself, is a fascinating and heartbreaking story.
At this juncture, I would like to issue a spoiler alert. If you are interested in the podcast, and don’t want me to give away the big “reveal”, I would suggest you stop reading and go to your favorite podcast app, download Blind Landing and give it a listen. If you don’t mind me spoiling the content of that forum, please continue with the fair-warning that things will be revealed.
The controversy around the 2000 women’s gymnastics in the Olympic games that year, revolved around a simple human error. When gymnast after gymnast failed to “stick” their vault-landing, some landing in horrifying and almost injury-inducing crashes, it was determined that the vault apparatus (also known as the “table” or “horse”) was set two-inches too low. These highly skilled, highly trained athletes’ performances were sabotaged by an oversight, a completely inadvertent and innocent mistake. Of course, this had detrimental effects.
The athletes were offered an opportunity to re-do their vault event, but by the time the problem was corrected, it had done some irreversible damage. The damage done was not to the gymnasts’ physical game, but to their mental one. Many gymnasts, after crashing on the vault, were unable to rally mentally and perform to their best ability at the other events included in the “all around” competition. The athletes were only allowed to re-do the vault event and not any other that followed. The mental game was over the minute their vault-landing failed. There was no recovery for most of these talented and well-trained women.
Listening to the podcast gave me a sense of the heartbreak and injustice that these women must have felt. Years of dedicated training and preparation washed down the drain in a few seconds. A lifetime of hopes and dreams shattered by literal inches.
In the 2000 summer Olympics, two inches was the distance between going home with a gold medal in your pocket and just going home.
Two inches is a small distance, but to an athlete two inches can be the distance between winning and loss. In baseball two inches can be the deciding factor between a ball and a strike. In football two inches can be the distance between a fumble and a completed pass. I can’t help but take the sports metaphor a little farther… Consider the sport of bow-hunting. To the skilled hunter, two inches can be the distance between a flesh-wound and a fatality. On a ruler, two inches doesn’t look like much, but in so many circumstances, two inches may as well be a mile.
In our day-to-day life, we may take the distance of two inches for granted. If you are putting away your underwear in a drawer, two inches one way or another isn’t going to make a difference. Two inches on a key-board could be the difference between a “g” and an “s” but fortunately, if I direct my right pinkie-finger two inches up, there is a backspace key that can erase the mistake as if it had never happened.
Sure, there are times in our everyday that two inches count, but for the most part, we bash our way through the world like a pinball in a machine, careening into things and people and spaces and events like the proverbial bull in a china shop, one inch mattering less than another… Two inches: the spine of a textbook, the circumference of a Coke can… Such a small space. In that space, in that two inches, however there is a dilemma to confront: is there a compromise? A compensation to the impact of such a small, yet enormous distance.
Yes.
And here it is. Those Olympians, those athletes, those people showed up.
They were present and prepared. They qualified for the most significant games on the planet. Regardless of the heartache, regardless of the dissatisfaction and injustice, they showed up and they tried their best. Isn’t that all any of us can ever do? Show up and try.
It seems so simple, but in reality, the showing up and the trying are the most complex. In life, how often do we decide to pass? Pass on an opportunity. Not give something our all. Pass on an adventure. Not give someone our best. Pass on a journey that had we stepped-up and stepped-in, could have, would have changed the trajectory of our existence on the planet. Not to over-complicated, or over-simplify but it really could be that profound.
The act of showing up and trying is the difference between unlocking joy or embracing loneliness. Showing up and trying is the secret-sauce to adventure, love, passion, connection, friendship, success, independence, confidence and a myriad of other things: good things.
Jesus came to the planet as a baby, grew into a boy and then a man on a mission so that we, you and me, could live life and “have it to the full”. He didn’t come so that we could sit on the sidelines and watch life pass us by. Jesus didn’t go to the cross so that we could pass up opportunity after opportunity and not give it our all. He came so that we could engage with others, love on them, forgive them, guide them, impact their lives and further his work while he sits on the throne. And for that work, our work, he promises us not a gold medal on a velvet ribbon, but a crown of gems. Each gem a symbol of our hard work. We can’t do that work from afar. We have to show up! We have to try!
Just like the gymnasts in 2000. We must do what needs to be done. The apparatus is set. Our job is to go through the motions that we have been trained for. We might stick the landing or we might fall on our faces. Gold medal or empty hands. Two inches can be the distance between victory and defeat, but it can also be the distance between an abundant life and an empty one.
Show up. Try. And when you’re standing on the podium, receiving your prize, hold your head up high because you did the good work and you deserve your crown.
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