Early morning — it’s silent in the gym. The lights that prefer to be bright are only half-lit as I lace up my shoes on the bottom row of the bleachers. The first bounce of the practice ball echoes throughout the fieldhouse, the sound reverberating little bits of my soul as the familiarity of the 28.5 Wilson leather hits my hands again.

The last voices fade away as the dugout vacates. Dirty socks in slides and the chill after the heat and sweat of a doubleheader set in. Tired feet, the grime of the field crusted on my elbows, shins, and face. The sting of today’s slide grabs my attention as my knee bends, after sealing up during the post-game chatter and coach’s talk. But the lightness of the game hangs sweet about my heart.

I loved it.

The game — the team, the play, the competition, the risk, the challenge. It was the smells, the sounds, and the feels. I loved it all. Playing sports did something to my soul. It was like something real opened its eyes within me when I was part of the game. And it won my heart for years of my childhood, deeply motivating me until I graduated from college.

It formed me. But not everything it formed was beautiful. There was a shadow side, too.

Deeply aware of this shadow, I was slightly afraid when we started our Poetice Rec Park in 2024. I was standing on the sidelines with my daughters as this dream of incorporating sports into our ministry was being reignited within me. My skin was breathing in the familiarity of the fading sun beating down as dirt was rising from the ground from a volleyball hitting the court. Before I met Jesus, this — sports — was the closest thing I knew to goodness. And for so long, it took His place on the throne of my life. So now, silently watching, my heart was tentative and exploding while I stood beside Him, and we looked together at this field that now sits at His feet. My heart whispering in wonder,

“Man, what can you do with this thing, Jesus?”

I love this quote by Peter Scazzero:
“NO OTHER PERSON HAS EVER LIVED MY LIFE.”

I love it because, though we often do, we cannot compare our lives to another. Each one of our lives is a unique and unrepeatable creation. Each one of our stories is precious and worthy of being told, shared, and experienced.

Life moves fast, and we often overlook the moments, the experiences, and the shaping forces that have formed us. Like I discovered in this part of my story, this shadow — something other than Jesus — had stolen my worship and my identity. Only by recognizing what has shaped us can we begin to learn, mature, and allow God to speak and right and redeem our shadows. By making space to celebrate my testimony and recognize what God has done, I can move freely into this dream without fear.

Simply through remembrance, we are acknowledging the immense value of our life to our Creator and are cherishing the life He has given us. So, as we venture ahead, the question lies before you,

“Who are you? And what is your story?”